


Lotus Leaves

by charmzz



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Chaseshipping, Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Healing, Homosexuality, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Puffshipping, References to Depression, Romance, Scarification, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Thiefshipping, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmzz/pseuds/charmzz
Summary: Bakura had seen the darkest depths of the shadows, lived within their embrace, and brandished their sharpest corners against everyone and anyone who had stood in his path. ((Thiefshipping)).
Relationships: Bakura Ryou/Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Honda Hiroto | Tristan Taylor/Otogi Ryuuji | Duke Devlin, Yami Bakura/Marik Ishtar
Comments: 57
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think that Yami Bakura x Malik Ishtar is a couple with huge potential. Thiefshipping got a lot of notoriety many years ago, when YGOTAS exploded out onto the internet. I love YGOTAS and think it's hilarious, but this fanfic approaches the couple from a canonical standpoint. I've always been curious as to how their dynamic would work in a post-canon type setting, where they meet again after not seeing each other for a long time. 
> 
> BTW, since naming conventions vary by author:  
> Yami Bakura= "Bakura"  
> Ryou Bakura= "Ryou"  
> Marik Ishtar= "Malik"
> 
> I will be using the Japanese names in this, only because I've recently watched the series in Japanese (with English subs) and I'm in love with YGO in its original state <3 
> 
> Thank you for checking out the first chapter! I will be doing my best to update this fairly frequently, as much as life allows. On with the story.

\--

With the pounding of his heart hammering in his ears, Bakura found himself sitting up fast under the sheets.

The phantom pains in his chest began to fade away as he took a few deep breaths, feeling the coolness of the air-conditioning at the back of his throat. He didn’t smell smoke, or taste fire, or hear screams. It wasn’t even dark, he realized as he cast a slow glance at the window, noticing the white light that filtered in through the cream-colored curtains. 

The patheticness of his situation struck a nerve as he stood to his feet, hair cascading down his back in a spiky mess. For whatever reason lately, he had been having nightmares- well, memories that surfaced in his sleep, more like. He had never had such a problem when he had been living in that other body, the one that wasn’t really his own. With Zorc a thing of the past along with the entirety of his otherworldly powers, he felt more useless than ever.

He could smell food, though, so he shook those thoughts away as he shrugged on a clean shirt and stumbled his way down the hall.

As he got closer, he could tell that there was rice involved, and likely some eggs. As expected, his housemate was stood at the stovetop with a spatula in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Bakura, breakfast,” Ryou greeted with a small smile and quickly set his phone down. The quickness of the movement was a little suspicious, but Bakura mostly just wondered at what point he had actually done anything that made him worthy of waking up to free brunch. Silent, he took a seat at the kitchen island, slouching with his cheek propped up against his palm. Thankfully, Ryou didn’t comment on his lack of speech, instead delivering him a plate of steaming food and sitting down beside him.

“Do you think you could go to the store for me, later?” his past host broke the silence finally, offering Bakura a pair of chopsticks. “I can text you a list.”

“Uh-huh,” Bakura replied, looking down at the glass of milk next to his serving of food. “Going to work?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back around eight.”

Bakura broke the egg yolk over his rice, brushing his bangs out of his dark eyes. “I’ll make dinner.”

The surprise was palpable as Ryou looked over at him. 

“Really?” the boy asked, voice soft with surprise. “I…was hoping you could pick up some beef for a stir fry.”

It was probably too much to ask for Bakura to actually cook anything, given that he had never really fed himself of his own volition in this modern age, but he figured it was the least he could do.

“Mm. I’ll have it ready by the time you get back.”

If nothing else, Ryou’s smile made it worth the offer. He ate the remainder of his meal in silence, sending Ryou a lazy wave when he exited the front door and then surveying the text message his roommate had sent him.

In the interest of dinner being fresh, he spent the remainder of the day at home until twilight hit, when he decided to venture out with his phone and Ryou’s credit card in his pants pocket. It had been a significant amount of time since Bakura had attempted to function normally in a society, and it was clearer to him than ever that this society was not his. 

Even throughout the many years of using Ryou as a host body, acclimating to the modern world, it wasn’t as though he had ever needed to do the basic day-to-day tasks that involved feeding or caring for oneself, at least, not in this lifetime. There were nuances to these things, he found. Having to do things like ask clerks or store employees for assistance made him feel pretty pitiful, so he normally tried to get in and out of stores as quickly as possible.

Bakura consulted Ryou’s list on his phone, silently putting each item into categories in his head. Beef and shrimp would probably be in the same general area…he’d have to go to the other end of the store for the broccoli and carrots, though. Picking up a plastic basket from beside the automatic doors, he made his way around the floral section and into the area where they had fresh greens.

Maybe he should see what they had in the bakery section. He had learned through experience that Ryou was fond of sweets- and, infuriatingly, he had found his own new taste buds were similar to those of his past host. Magic worked in mysterious ways, but there was no doubt that this new body was biologically closer to that of his roommate than the one he had had millennia ago.

When Bakura turned the corner to head towards the refrigerables, eyes on his phone, he took a few steps forward and then immediately skidded to a halt in order not to hit the person standing in front of him.

“S-…” Brown eyes stared stilly at the familiar figure. The other man stood there looking at him with an unmistakable lavender gaze, expression startled and bronze hand clutched around a pack of what looked like precooked raviolis. 

Bakura immediately registered who he was looking at. The Egyptian squinted for a moment, discerningly, before his pupils blew wide. 

“What are you doing here?” the blond asked, and it occurred to Bakura that, yeah, he wasn’t really supposed to still be around, and that if anyone could discern between him and Ryou, it was this guy.

“…Long story,” he replied, getting his first good look at Malik in several years. The Egyptian was wearing a black tank top and grey vest with gold buttons, and a pair of low khakis with black leather ankle boots. Malik just raised an eyebrow at him, and Bakura felt that familiar burn in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t exactly like they had ever gotten along well, despite making an attempt at teamwork years back. It was more a case of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’, or whatever that old saying was.

“Let’s just say my landlord got lonely without a second roommate,” he added. The blond stared at him with obvious concern, and he sighed and adjusted the basket over his arm, sort of embarrassed to be caught doing a decidedly domestic thing like shopping by this person in particular. 

“Right,” Malik commented as though he didn’t believe that at all. Bakura frowned.

“It’s true. Ask him yourself.”

“That’s low, you know. Pretending you’re innocent.”

“Like you have any room to talk,” Bakura replied, showing his slightly sharp canines. Malik looked fairly startled by this point, but stood his ground. It was obvious from his studious gaze that he was trying to interpret his presence there, and decide whether or not he was a threat.

“I’m surprised you can still inhabit that body without the Ring on you.”

“The body is mine,” Bakura stated, irritated he was being asked to explain himself so suddenly to someone he had never expected to see again. A second familiar figure came into view, albeit one he had been less closely involved with, and he looked up into the yellow-green eyes of the tall male, observing the hieroglyphics over his cheek and jaw.

“Master Malik?”

Rishid seemed surprised, but Malik didn’t acknowledge him, instead taking a step in Bakura’s direction. 

“So, what? You’re just a standalone entity, now?” he asked suspiciously. “At least you’re making yourself useful, I guess.”

Bakura took another look at Rishid, observing the basket in his arms and snorting dismissively.

“Yes, well, I don’t exactly have a manservant at my beck and call to do these things for me.”

Malik balked obviously and Bakura cackled, drawing some attention from passersby. At this point, Rishid took a slow step forward into the space between them, using his tall presence to keep the two apart.

“Malik-sama, we should go.”

“Just how the hell did you manage this?” Malik interrogated, peering around the strong arm. “Kind of sad for the legacy of the Pharaoh, isn’t it? He finally passes on, and you worm your way right back onto the plane of the living.”

“The legacy of the Pharaoh,” Bakura all but growled, suddenly extremely peeved. “Kept a roof over your head and food in your mouth since birth. The same cannot be said for me.”

“Yeah, a brick roof that blocked out all the light and fresh air.”

“Hm, sounds like the inside of the Ring.”

“Malik-sama,” Rishid said in a more forceful tone, catching the blond’s attention with a gesture towards the sliding glass doors over near the register area. “It is getting dark out.”

The comment seemed to have some significance to Malik, who surveyed Bakura with an unsure look and took a hesitant step away, even though his expression seemed to indicate he was getting ready to fire back.

“Whoever you are, stay away from Yugi and his friends,” he warned as a goodbye, turning on his heel and striding off, leaving Rishid to follow behind. Bakura couldn’t help but watch him walk off, irrationally annoyed by the realization that Malik was, like before, just the slightest bit taller than him. Why couldn’t that occult shit Ryou had used to summon him have had the decency to provide him with his REAL body? Okay, so he’d still be shorter, but at least he’d have more meat on his bones.

Frustrated by the exchange, Bakura snatched up a bag of baby carrots from the shelf and stormed his way down the next aisle over. ‘Stay away’, huh? Like he wanted anything to do with that pack of idiots. Minus Ryou, of course.

Ryou… Did he know about the Ishtars being back in Japan? Teeth grit, he picked up the remainder of the items on his list and quickly left the store, mumbling under his breath.

\--

“Really??”

As expected, Ryou seemed completely aghast by the news. Bakura sneered around his mouthful of meat, having cooked his own bloody serving for a shorter amount of time.

“Yes. Both Malik and that bald freak with the face tattoo.”

“Bakura,” Ryou chided, holding his chopsticks daintily against the surface of his own fuller plate. “That’s…really strange. What would they be doing here?”

“Hell if I know,” Bakura muttered. “If he’s back to kill the Pharaoh, he missed that boat about five years ago. He should know that.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” his roommate hummed to himself. Bakura kept chewing, irrationally irritated. 

“Did he say anything about why he was here?”

“No,” he snapped, hearing his own tone of voice and lowering it a little. “And I don’t really give a flying fuck as long as he stays away from me.”

Ryou pursed his lips, seeming concerned. It occurred to Bakura that Ryou probably didn’t know the entirety of his and Malik’s history, or everything Malik had done in general, since, well, he hadn’t been the one piloting his conscious thought at the time.

“He can’t be all bad,” Ryou finally replied, chancing a soft smile. “He apologized for everything he did to us. He was being…controlled for part of that, too, right?”

Bakura tasted acid in his mouth. When Ryou talked about that kind of thing, he never knew what the fuck to say in reply. He was clearly no better than Malik in that way, after all, and it was really only by Ryou’s kindness that he was even back on this level of existence. 

“Well, his hair was obeying gravity this time,” he snorted, chewing on a piece of green pepper. 

“Maybe he’s just taking a trip,” Ryou thought aloud, standing up and setting his mostly-empty plate into the sink. “Domino Beach is nice this time of year.”

“He lives in Egypt,” Bakura replied flatly, handing over his own dish. “He can go to the beach anytime he wants.”

Ryou shrugged his shoulders, and turned to take a bowl out of the cabinet. “Would you like a piece of shortcake? We still have whipped cream left.”

Again, Bakura cursed his taste buds but grunted in assent anyways.

It was halfway through his bowl of cut strawberries and cake that he sensed a lull, and looked up from his dessert to see Ryou’s peaked face lit up by the light of his phone. The little smile on his lips surprised him.

“Who are you texting?”

Ryou seemed surprised, setting his phone down a little too fast again. “Nobody.”

As far as he knew, Ryou wasn’t close with many people. “Yugi?”

“….Ahm, Jonouchi, actually,” his host murmured, a faint pink showing on the crests of his cheeks. The mere idea of what could be going on there made Bakura cringe. Years of living in Ryou’s body meant he was very aware of his host’s…preferences in that way, at least regarding gender, and how on a base level, they mirrored his own. Something about that exchange made him sit up, placing his half-eaten bowl in the kitchen sink. His skin itched, and he felt like he needed to be alone.

“Whatever. Night,” he sighed and got up, walking into Ryou’s spare room, shutting the door and collapsing onto the twin bed in the corner. 

It was only like, nine o’ clock, frustratingly, so he had no plans on going to sleep, not that he would have been able to if he had tried. He rolled onto his front and pulled out his Switch, white hair spilling out over his back and one of his arms as he peered over the edge of the pillow that had folded beneath his chin. 

Evening turned to darker night behind his curtains, and dark night turned slowly into sunrise. Bakura attempted to distract himself from the tension he felt regarding the day. He jammed his fingers down on the plastic buttons, brown eyes flicking down to the surface of the mattress and then to the ceiling. It wasn’t everyday you ran into someone you would have otherwise thought was a mere element of your past. 

Malik had surprised him back then, too- appearing almost by fate, striking up a deal that fulfilled both of their goals. To be completely honest (within himself only, of course, and never out loud), Bakura had to admit he had been impressed by Malik. A mere human with all cards seemingly stacked against him who had broken free of his family’s chains, only to go on to wreak havoc and put the Pharaoh in some seriously compromising positions. That wasn’t to say they hadn’t had their share of strife- despite their similar goals and aspirations, at that time, they had often had conflict, especially when Malik’s other half had reared his head.

To this day, something about Malik acutely irritated Bakura. Maybe it was the fact he had a loving family despite all he had done, something which Bakura had pretty much never had and couldn’t really hope for even now. Maybe it was the fact that he, despite his short history on Earth, had proven himself worthy and capable of successfully wielding both an Egyptian God and a Millennium Item, things which Bakura had waited literal millennia to do and now had literally no chance of doing ever again. Not that he had any reason to anymore, but still.

As it was, Ryou was the only one who wanted him around. His host had always had an interest in unconventional things- roleplay-based fantasy worlds, science fiction, the occult. Bakura had suspected at first that this fixation had had something to do with why Ryou had gone through so many tribulations to resurrect him from the shadows. Instead, he had found that those things contributed more to the “how” part than to the “why”- in Ryou’s words, as they got older, he had felt “a little edged out”, no longer connecting as frequently with Yugi and Yugi’s close friends. 

That really didn’t seem to be the case lately, though. 

It was these thoughts that Bakura found himself drifting off to, console forgotten on the sheets and front pressed against the softness of the pillow top. His light was on, but dim, so he slept fairly restfully until-

The sound of a ping startled him from his slumber.

Bakura looked up and over towards his bedroom door. The doorbell. His eyes flicked over to the simple alarm clock on his bedside table, next to the ceramic sphinx Ryou’s father had sent him two years prior. 8:49AM.

Slowly, he eased himself up on his pale feet and made his way to the door, hearing footsteps on the hardwood and listening in. Ryou was up.

He heard the sound of the door opening, and some soft and muffled voices, one he could easily identify as Ryou’s, and another he wasn’t entirely sure about. It sounded mild, which immediately gave him a bad feeling. Yugi and that group were always boisterous, so…

Hesitating, he slowly creaked the door open and felt his stomach turn a little, immediately able to identify who was there despite only catching a few words in the muffled string of conversation.

“-said it was your day off.”

“Oh-”

“- not sure if you’d like these, but just in case…”

That bastard.

“Oh, thank you!” came Ryou’s soft and happy voice, obviously surprised by whatever was being offered. “It’s nice to see you. What brings you here?”

“Sister’s here on business. Rishid and I are renting a condo north of town.”

“Ahm, that’s nice. I…Bakura said he saw you at the store yesterday.”

Gritting his teeth, Bakura pushed open his door and promptly strode out into the hall and into the sitting room, immediately confronted by two sets of wide and startled eyes.

Ryou looked as he usually did in the mornings, skinny body drowning in his mint-green long-sleeved pajamas and slightly mussed hair. He was holding a container of what looked like cinnamon buns in his small hands. Malik was contrastingly fully-dressed, wearing his usual earrings as he had been the day before, but also donning a pair of black denim skinny jeans and a grey-blue hoodie with cuffed sleeves. Bakura tried not to think about what a nightmarish nest his own hair had to be, and glared at the visitor accusatorily.

“You woke me up.”

Malik looked at the two of them side by side, lavender eyes betraying his shock easily.

“So you were telling the truth,” he said quietly, as though trying to get the idea through his head. For a few seconds, his expression was unsure, as if he wanted to say something. He settled on a soft smile, looking over to Ryou. “At the risk of bringing up the past, I actually was hoping to talk to you.”

Ryou looked at him unsurely and set the box down on the kitchen island, and Bakura felt equally confused.

Seemingly hesitant, Malik reached out and gently took Ryou’s hand from where it was clasped near his chest. “I wanted to apologize for everything that happened back then,” he stated softly, taking a slow breath as though he needed to gather his thoughts. “I can’t ask for your forgiveness for the way I hurt you and your friends.”

“Oh,” Ryou replied, pupils dilating visibly. Bakura felt his fingernails bite into the palms of his hands. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Malik continued, holding Ryou’s hand in both of his own now and smiling somewhat bashfully. “I just wanted to let you know that if there’s anything I can ever do for you, you can call me.”

Of course, Bakura easily remembered the experience of inhabiting Ryou’s body with Malik, in that void chamber of green and blue, wrapped in fog and tension.

“…Thank you,” Ryou eventually replied, clasping his hands with Malik’s. Bakura hissed, unable to take it anymore and stepping forward.

“Nobody asked for an apology from you,” he snapped. Malik turned to him, and Bakura noticed a few simple rings on his tan fingers. 

“I’m not apologizing because I was asked,” the blond replied smoothly, surprise from before seeming to have faded. “Some of us have remorse for things we’ve done.”

Fuck. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Bakura felt his whole body flare with irritation. He ignored Ryou’s reaction as he approached Malik, hands tight fists at his sides as he stopped a few inches away from his face. The blond looked back at him, nose wrinkling slightly.

“I never said it meant anything,” he stated coolly, lids lowering slightly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my face.”

“You’re the one who’s playing innocent,” Bakura spat back, remembering that comment from the day before. “He doesn’t remember most of what happened. Don’t act like this bullshit apology is enough retribution for what you did.”

At this point, Bakura felt hands clutching hold of his arm and looked down, wincing when Ryou’s fingers grazed the sensitive patch under his left shoulder.

“Bakura, stop,” Ryou encouraged, pulling on his limb with a soft frown. Infuriatingly, Malik laughed just slightly into his own palm, setting Bakura’s teeth into an immediate snarl.

“Do you have selective memory?” he asked, brows drawing upwards towards the center of his forehead in what Bakura could only interpret as a condescending look. “You’re the last person who needs to be reprimanding me for harming your host.”

Bakura opened his mouth with every intention of spitting curses at him, but Ryou continued to gently tug on his arm, and he took a hesitant step backwards, dark eyes burning into Malik’s light ones. 

“Calm down,” his roommate told him sternly, turning to Malik with a soft smile. “Thank you for the apology. That means a lot to me.”

Something in the pit of Bakura’s stomach twisted and wrenched around painfully. Had he not been fearful of looking like he was running away, he would have turned tail and instantly gone back into his bedroom. Instead, though, he stepped in front of Ryou and stared Malik down, anger burning at the back of his tongue.

“Of course,” the Egyptian replied, all but ignoring Bakura, who was made even angrier by the sight. Malik moved around the sofa to avoid the slightly taller of the two, approaching Ryou from the side. “Actually, I was wondering something. It’s your birthday next weekend, isn’t it?”

Ryou gasped, obviously startled. “It…How did you know?”

“Yugi told me that, too,” he admitted, bending a little to be at Ryou’s eye level. “I was thinking I could get together a birthday party for you.” Malik smiled. “I can invite everyone, if you’re interested.”

Bakura could only watch as Ryou cupped his face with both hands, face lighting up.

“…I would love that, but I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.” Ryou’s voice was slightly weak, as though the very idea made him want to cry, and Bakura felt the deep realization that, yes, Ryou’s birthday WAS coming up, and that he had practically always spent it alone, even since childhood. Maybe seeing him touched by such a suggestion was to be expected.

“It’s no trouble! I’m practically on vacation,” Malik replied, taking out his phone. “We can text about it and make plans, if you want. Do you want to give me your number?”

“Yes,” Ryou replied quickly and took the phone, completely absorbed in the conversation, leaving Bakura to stand behind him awkwardly. “Thank you!”

Bakura took a look at the two as they stood close with their phones out. In most situations, he probably would have assumed that Malik legitimately had some nefarious plan in mind- that was how he had known the guy, after all, as a plotter and a sneak. Even now, as he spoke in a tone that seemed honest and kind, his intelligence was obvious as ever. Still, though…He couldn’t conceive of a motive. The Millennium items were buried, and the Pharaoh was gone for good. Annoyingly, the blond’s story seemed to make sense, and Ryou was clearly happy.

Not keen on staying for the rest of the conversation, he dragged himself into the kitchen and began raiding the cabinets for cinnamon toast crunch.

Thankfully, it was only a few minutes before he heard the door close, and Ryou’s shuffling slippered feet. Bakura poured some milk into his bowl and began chomping down in frustration, feeling himself melt a little when his roommate’s smiling and bright face came into his field of vision.

“Be careful,” Bakura muttered, gulping some milk from the lip of the bowl. “Wouldn’t trust him.”

Ryou’s smile didn’t waver. “He came to apologize,” the other said softly, holding his hands together in a gentle clasp. “I’ve never had a birthday party before.”

Something inside Bakura just hurt. He was the first to admit that it had been a long time since he’d had enough humanity to actually care about people besides himself, at least emotionally, and he didn’t really know how to deal with those very human emotions anymore.

“That guy is trouble,” he stated and set the bowl down, folding his arms. “I’ll come with you.”

“Of course! I want you to come,” Ryou promised, obviously undeterred. “Don’t…get worried about Yugi and everyone else. They know I wanted you here.”

For some reason, that just made Bakura feel worse. Truthfully, the last place he wanted to be was crammed in some room or theater with the geek squad and that infuriating blond, none of whom he knew probably wanted to be around him. Yes, Ryou had wanted him here- that was why he existed, and Bakura was torn between resenting the fact that he was condemned to this strange and pointless life after so many millennia, and resenting the fact that he couldn’t even appreciate what he’d been given out of the goodness of someone’s heart.

Heart. He looked down at himself, aware of his own beating and feeling almost convinced it was just a delusion. Licking his teeth, he reached for the box of cereal again and shook more into his bowl, hearing Ryou sigh behind him. 

“Leave some for me to have tomorrow morning,” he chastised softly, opening the box Malik had brought and lifting out an iced roll with his thumb and forefinger. “I have an early shift.”

“Opening?” Bakura guessed aloud. Ryou hummed in assent. 

“Yugi’s Grandpa said they’re getting in a big shipment. They need my help to do inventory before the holidays.”

“Sounds like a pain in the ass.”

His roommate laughed a little. “It’s my job. They’re paying me, after all.”

It occurred to Bakura in that moment just how much more social Ryou had become over the past few years, first connecting with Yugi and his group of friends, eventually ending up with a part-time job alongside the man himself. Now, he was texting Jonouchi, and even that Egyptian kid was coming to see him specifically? Maybe Ryou was more likeable now that people could trust that Bakura was no longer occupying his body. 

Turning, Bakura made to leave the kitchen when he felt a hand on his arm, small, delicate, white and familiar. He looked Ryou in the eye unsurely, catching the seriousness in his face.

“Please be nice,” Ryou said softly, in a way that anyone would have truly had to be evil to defy. “At the party. I want to have a good time. All our friends will be there. They’re nice people.”

‘Our’ friends. That was a laugh, but Bakura forced himself to keep it to a soft snort. Even if they weren’t “enemies”, per say, they would never be “his” friends. Bakura barely knew anything about himself, besides the dreams he kept having, and those god-damned awful memories that played back in his mind over and over like a video stuck on repeat. In truth, Bakura barely considered himself a person, at least, not like the people he and Ryou interacted with on a daily basis. No, Bakura was just the shell of someone who should have been dead years ago, trapped within a shell that didn’t feel like his own. He felt like a shadow, warped by definition and design, equally likely to fade into the darkness of the background as to spook and frighten someone who wasn’t expecting to see him in the harshness of the light. 

Bakura set his bowl in the sink and ambled back into the spare bedroom, shutting the door and laying down on the bed. His eyelids were heavy, and he feared closing them in anticipation of what he might see. If it made Ryou happy, it was the least he could do to try and play along with whatever was going to happen that next weekend, or maybe, it was the most he could ever hope to do.

Eyes watering, he yawned and pressed his front into the blankets.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your patience with this chapter! I took a bit of a fun trip and some general vacation days off work, so I'm fairly refreshed and ready to write more again <3

\--

When September 2nd rolled around, Bakura made a legitimate effort to sleep in as late as he possibly could, and was frustrated to see it was only 4PM when he finally opened his eyes. 

After biding some time by tossing back and forth, Bakura made his way down the stairs, feeling the boards creak under his feet. Ryou had upgraded his living arrangements awhile back, from his typical small Japanese apartment to a duplex-style unit. When Bakura had first returned, he had been surprised to see the extra bedroom in the back of the place, and the dishwasher in the kitchen. This, however, came at the cost of the house feeling particularly empty when his roommate was at work, or otherwise out.

Not that he cared. Privacy was nice.

Stepping out into the kitchen, Bakura noticed a familiar mint-green sticky note attached to the fridge. 

_Please check the mail again today. See you later! – Ryou_

As if he wouldn’t know who it was from. Shaking his head, Bakura opened the fridge and grabbed for a meat bun.

Despite the pain he still felt in his ego when he did such things, the man made his way outside and down the steps there, approaching the mailbox and opening it with Ryou’s key. He tossed his head back slightly, scarfing down more of the bun as he dug around with both hands, and shoving a wad of newspapers under one arm. The simple white envelope that peeked out caught his attention, so he held that more carefully as he trekked back up the steps.

Bakura set the envelope down on the kitchen island and yawned, hearing the door creak open simultaneously and glancing over at his housemate who walked in with a few grocery bags.

“Did you just get up?” Ryou asked in surprise, wearing one of his usual grey sweaters. As he approached, Bakura noticed his dark eyes flick over to the envelope on the counter, and took in the relief on Ryou’s face. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” he breathed, setting his bags down. “I was worried it would get lost again.”

“Guess he remembered to use enough stamps,” Bakura sighed. Ryou’s smile was brighter today, than usual, and there was really no question as to why. With a little bounce in his step, Ryou tucked the envelope into his wallet and set it into his shoulder bag.

“We should start getting ready pretty soon,” he stated, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a package of frosted cupcakes. “Malik said he’d take care of the food part, but I thought I should bring something, right?”

Bakura tensed, opening the fridge for a second bun. “Where exactly are we going?”

“The bowling alley,” Ryou chirped, cheeks fading to a faint pink. “Everybody’s coming! Well, except Anzu. She lives in America, now.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

It was with the apprehension of this that Bakura went back into his bedroom, played some more of his game, showered, and coerced himself into a long-sleeved blue shirt and pair of jeans. It was kind of embarrassing that he was still borrowing Ryou’s clothes, but it wasn’t like they didn’t fit.

The journey there in Ryou’s small grey-blue sedan was fairly silent. Bakura kept his focus mostly glued to his phone, an early model with a slight crack forming in the corner of the screen from that one time he’d lost to a boss on his game and sent the thing flying in a sudden fit of rage across the room. When he felt the car come to a stop, he pulled the backseat door handle and drudged his way out onto the asphalt, swinging his head to the side so his hair didn’t get caught in the car door. 

As expected, his and Ryou’s entrance into the bowling alley was met with some loud attention from over in the general seating area near the snack bar. Bakura immediately found himself irritated by the blinking colored lights on the ceiling, but chose to focus on them when a familiar and loud blonde practically catapulted himself into their general space.

“Oi, Ryou! You made it!”

“Jonouchi!” Ryou greeted, and the excitable joy in his face sent Bakura’s gaze even further into the background. From a cursory glance, he was able to identify a few more too-familiar faces at one of the tables near where the bowling lanes were. A feeling of dread made a home for itself in his stomach when the Pharaoh’s host, all-smiles and large eyes as usual, made his way over behind Jonouchi, followed soon after by the black-haired dice player and that idiot guy who had chased Bakura down for Seto Kaiba’s little brother that one time. 

“Ryou! Happy birthday.”

“Thank you!” Ryou replied, gazing happily at the familiar group and holding out the container from earlier. “We brought some cupcakes.”

Perhaps it was the ‘we’ that brought he group’s immediate attention to Bakura’s presence, where he stood a couple feet back from Ryou near one of the walls. Bakura tensed. Right. Besides Yugi, whom he had interacted with in this body a couple of times due to picking Ryou up from work, or whatever, none of the others had really…socialized with him in this form. He knew they knew of his existence, as, well, people talked, but…

Jonouchi immediately reeled back a little, and Bakura recalled easily his fear of ghosts, and how he had exploited that before for his own amusement a few times while in Ryou’s body. Maybe he could use that to his advantage sometime…

“Bakura!” Yugi broke the ice, reaching out with a hand and a smile. “It’s good to see you again!”

Bakura swallowed, hesitantly reaching out to reciprocate the handshake. There was no awkwardness like being merged with the spirit of the devil, attempting to enact millennia-old revenge on someone, ending up reincarnated as a shell of a person, and then having to socialize pleasantly with the human host of the guy you had wanted dead since childhood. 

“Yeah.”

“You guys wanna come play a round?” Otogi broke in, clearly the other most sociable and least awkward person in the group. “Everyone else went to go pick up food.”

Ryou’s excited face said it all. The ‘everyone else’ statement was lost on Bakura for a moment as he followed along slowly behind the group towards the tables. Who else was there? It seemed like enough of a party. Dice kid, shitty-hair, blonde pervert, Pharaoh’s host…

Bakura felt eyes on him and turned, immediately locking gazes from the other end of the alley with the person he had been most hoping to avoid. Rishid and Isis carried bags over their shoulders and wore fairly casual clothes, compared to what he recalled from years back, but it was the youngest sibling that was looking at him directly, lavender eyes staring almost piercingly as Malik made his way around the tables and over to Ryou.

“Happy Birthday,” the blonde greeted, scooping Ryou up into a tight embrace. Ryou tensed, obviously shocked, before leaning into the hug. Infuriatingly, Malik took that moment to rest his chin on Ryou’s shoulder, still watching Bakura before stepping back and gesturing to the bags.

“We ordered some Korean barbecue.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Ryou replied softly. Jonouchi seemed to take the silence as a cue and wrapped his arm around Ryou’s shoulders, indirectly sending a cold chill directly up Bakura’s spine. 

“C’mon, let’s all play a game before we stuff our faces, yeah?”

“Let’s see. We have nine people,” Honda interrupted, gaze moving from the Ishtars all the way over to where Bakura stood in the corner. “We need two groups to face off…”

Good, his chance.

“I’ll sit out,” Bakura immediately volunteered, internally cringing when everyone turned their eyes onto him. Ryou, in particular, looked unsure. Bakura apologized mentally. He just couldn’t bring himself to try and…act like this was all normal.

“Bakura?”

“It’s fine. I’ll go get some drinks,” he muttered, gesturing towards the snack bar. Ryou, thankfully, reached into his pocket and handed him his wallet without comment, sending him a gentle smile.

“Okay. Thanks.”

Bakura had never been more relieved to escape something. Turning, he promptly excused himself to the snack bar, much preferring the idea of talking to a stranger. What had he been thinking? He should have just been Ryou’s ride. Not that he was technically supposed to be driving, but…

“Uh, nine sodas,” he ordered, handing over a bill and taking the empty cups. Seeing the soda fountain there at the side, he filled himself one and then walked over to a table a slight distance from where the group was taking turns rolling the ball down the nearest lane, taking a seat and slowly pulling his Switch out of his pocket. 

Bakura often found himself grateful that this modern society had invented lots of novel and exciting ways to entertain oneself without needing to resort to socialization. When inhabiting Ryou’s body, he had always been occupied with a specific goal in mind- some plan in motion, something he was actively working towards. Now, as someone with really no goals or dreams, it was actually rather hard not to feel like he was useless- no hopes, no aspirations, no nefarious plans. 

He sank down against the table, clicking buttons as he tried not to overhear what was going on about ten feet away. 

“STRIKE!” 

“Wow, good job, Yugi!”

“Man, are you literally good at everything?”

“All right. Step aside, King of Games.”

“Yugi’s on our team next round!”

It took some effort, but Bakura was able to get absorbed in his game. As long as Ryou was having a good time, that was really all that mattered. While he had no reason not to be civil (and probably had every reason to be grateful these people weren’t ostracizing him entirely), he didn’t really think he could force himself too much, either. After all, it wasn’t as though his past actions had been performed entirely with his own consent. Just as he had possessed and controlled Ryou, even he himself had been controlled by the darkness in his own heart- so much, so, that it had become nearly impossible for himself to tell exactly where he ended and Zorc began. This was the crux of why he couldn’t relate to anyone, he mused silently as he blasted away his opponent on-screen. Aside from Ryou, who else could relate to something like that?

“You look like you got put in time out.”

The smooth voice set Bakura’s shoulders into a hard line. Teeth gritted, he looked up over his console at the figure who promptly sat down across from him, golden hand holding onto the rim of one of the plastic drink cups, which was full of ice cubes. 

Confused, he glanced at the stack of cups and then back up at Malik, irritated to be interrupted.

“I helped myself,” Malik elucidated, sipping at the ice water before setting it back down. Bakura just watched as he dipped a fingertip into the cup and stirred the ice around.

“What do you want?” he asked blandly, frowning. “You’ll screw your team over, you know.”

“Oh. Mai just showed up, so I let her swap in,” the blonde replied, tilting his head over in the general direction of the lanes. Bakura glanced over, surprised to see the tall woman with her long blonde hair chatting with Otogi. He huffed, saying nothing. 

Malik pursed his lips visibly over the rim of his cup. 

“I’m sure Sister would be happy to switch with you if you want to try,” he commented conversationally, though there was an edge to his tone that made Bakura feel like he was being made fun of. He clicked his tongue, sending Malik a nasty look.  
“I don’t need your pity,” he spat. 

Malik shrugged.

“Just thought I’d offer, since your caretaker is a little occupied at the moment.”

“So is yours,” Bakura replied quickly, able to see Rishid dutifully opening and setting out the food from the takeout bags he had carted in previously. “Tell me, when you say, ‘jump’, does he ask ‘How high?’, or have you limited him to purely nonverbal communication?”

Malik’s wide-eyed look actually startled a laugh out of Bakura. The shock on his face, though, quickly turned dark, which honestly satisfied Bakura even more.

“Rishid is my brother,” the Egyptian stated, placing a hand down on the tabletop. “You don’t know anything about our family.”

“And you don’t know anything about mine,” Bakura stated, shrugging and holding his hands out with his palms up. “But at least I don’t treat Ryou as a grocery boy.”

“It seems to me like you ARE the grocery boy,” Malik spat back, obviously irritated by this line of conversation. 

Bakura snorted.

“What are you still doing over here? Go run around and play ball with those goody two-shoes idiots.”

The Egyptian took a breath in that moment, seeming to calm himself as he set his cup of ice down. His mouth curved into a resigned grin and he averted his gaze. Bakura noticed the slight darkening of the lavender near his pupils. 

“Heh. You really think I would fit in with those guys?”

That surprised Bakura, who surveyed Malik with an unconvinced expression.

“You invited them.”

“For Ryou’s sake,” Malik admitted, voice softening uncharacteristically. He brought a finger up to gently pull at one long lock of hair near the base of his neck. “He’s the one I feel the worst about hurting, really. The Pharaoh is long gone, and he could fend for himself just fine, anyways. Your host was an innocent casualty.”

Malik looked at him, and Bakura immediately quashed down the general churn that occurred in his stomach. One of the most frustrating things about this guy was that he very rarely seemed to be wrong about anything he said.

“What do you know?” Bakura muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m about three-thousand years your senior, you brat.”

Malik actually laughed, and the sound was light and startlingly different from the forceful and maniacal thing Bakura remembered.

“Not three-thousand and one?” he snickered, wiping at his eye. Bakura noticed that his kohl smeared slightly against his cheek.

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m betting you’re the other birthday boy,” Malik hummed questioningly. Bakura paused in his retort. He couldn’t say for certain, but truth be told, he did sort of feel like maybe, in another life, September 2nd had held some general significance…

“And how would you know?” he sniffed. Malik sent him a noncommittal look. 

“Intuition?” the blonde mused. “Your kind seems to have a habit of coming into being on your hosts’ birthdays.”

Malik’s tone seemed to suggest that he was speaking from some kind of personal experience. Bakura didn’t know all that much about Malik’s past, other than the facts directly related to his plan of divesting the Pharaoh of the throne and the prophecy etched into the skin of his back. He did remember vividly that freak of a dark side, the one time he and Malik had fought side by side. It hadn’t exactly panned out well, of course, and their teamwork probably could have used some improvement.

Malik shifted on the bench across from him, and Bakura got a general and familiar whiff of something floral, which he hadn’t noticed before.

“Either way, you seem pretty protective of him, nowadays,” Malik prodded.

Bakura sighed, not too sure he wanted to have this conversation.

“Call it a habit,” he snipped, looking at the ugly manila stains on the rim of the plastic tabletop. “I’m used to protecting that body.”

Malik stared. “I’m glad to hear you use protection, I guess.”

The complete and chilling horror that pulsed through Bakura’s veins must have had him making a particularly hilarious face, if the surprised laughter was anything to go by. 

“Don’t even joke about that,” Bakura managed to grit out, expelling the air from his lungs in a hiss. The blonde raised an eyebrow, still giggling.

“You’re telling me you two aren’t an item?”

“Of course not!”

“Wow,” Malik hummed, seeming thoughtful. “He must have been really lonely to bring you back, then.”

Thoroughly insulted despite the somewhat playful tone of voice, Bakura stood up between the bench and the tabletop, seething down at Malik with clenched teeth. If he were honest with himself, the thing that stung the most was being so powerless- no Millennium Ring, no overarching life goal, no plan. No. He was just ‘the guy Ryou had brought back’, nowadays.

“You don’t know anything about my return,” he snarled. “How do you know I’m not tricking him? Perhaps I convinced him to trust me.”

“With that bright smile and shining charisma of yours?” Malik replied, swirling his cup of ice around. “I doubt it.”

Somehow, in that moment of tenseness and irritation, Bakura actually did find himself feeling a little more…real, maybe, or less restrained. Maybe it was just because the circumstances of living side-by-side with Ryou were so unexpected and bizarre, that he never really knew how to act at home. With this guy, though, the two of them seemed to fall into a somewhat familiar back-and-forth type of thing- not actually threatening, probably, but also not particularly friendly. Given the total surrealness of his own existence anyways, such a sarcastic interaction actually felt more “normal” than anything else he had had lately. When he really thought it, Malik was one of the last people he had ever interacted with on a mutual level, way back then.

“Want to play Duel Monsters?” Malik inquired, bringing Bakura’s thoughts back to the present and holding up a card deck which Bakura could only assume he had had in a pocket somewhere. “I promise not to ream your ass too bad.”

“If you think you can ream my ass,” Bakura hissed. “You have another thing coming.” He paused, actually a little disappointed when he realized... 

“I don’t have my deck on me.”

“Lame,” Malik lilted as he tucked his cards back away. “We’ll have to take a rain check, then. We never got to duel, before.”

“We were kind of busy trying to defeat your other half,” Bakura recalled. A loud and melodic sequence of beeps caught his attention, and he looked up at the large TV screen over the lane where Yugi and the group had finished their game, unsurprised to see Yugi, Jonouchi, and Ryou cheering for their side. The words WINNER: TEAM 2 flashed on the screen.

“I’m getting hungry,” Malik decided and got up, casting a glance back at Bakura over his shoulder. “Let’s get plates before Jonouchi and Honda eat it all.”

Amused, Bakura got up and went back over to the soda fountain, filling another cup with lemon-lime soda and hesitantly making his way back over to the group. He approached Ryou where he was near the central table and offered him the cup, averting his eyes and sitting down to grab for a paper plate.

“Oh god, I’m starved,” Jonouchi groaned predictably as the group began to pile in around the two closest tables, peeling lids off containers with a plate in hand. Malik took control of the chaos easily, handing out plastic utensils and explaining what was in each of the containers. When Ryou sat down beside him, Bakura felt a tiny nudge to his arm and turned, slightly blinded by that carefree smile he was seeing so much more of lately.

“We won!”

“Good,” Bakura replied, loading some pork belly onto his own plate with the provided tongs. Ryou took the tongs once offered, getting a couple smaller pieces for himself and then reaching for the white rice.

“You can play in the next round, if you like.”

“I plan to be in a food coma by then,” he huffed, not at all liking how Jonouchi plopped down to sit close to Ryou’s other side. Thankfully, Ryou didn’t push the matter, merely smiling and breaking apart his pair of chopsticks.

The rest of the party was fairly unexciting. Malik had turned his attention to the birthday boy, as had the rest of the group, and Bakura had decided to scroll through a few things on his phone while everyone ate, and then Ryou opened up gifts. There was a sweater, a couple games, an art kit of some kind, and a box of fancy creampuffs (which seemed like the favorite from the moment Ryou had peeled the paper off). After another round of bowling which Bakura sat out of again, instead busying himself with one of the cupcakes they had brought along, he glanced back out through the glass doors and saw with surprise that darkness had already fallen outside. 

“We should go,” Ryou told him, surprising him at his side with a glance in the same direction. “I’m supposed to be at work with Yugi at eight, tomorrow.”

Finally. Relieved for an excuse to get away, Bakura got up and reached for the empty plastic bags that the food had come in, loading the gifts inside them and hauling them over his shoulders.

Malik left his spot at the bowling lane promptly, smiling to Ryou with a sweet look. “Do you need to head out?”

“Yeah. I have an early shift,” Ryou explained. Malik hugged him, and Bakura averted his eyes, still not too sure what to think about their exchange earlier. All he wanted to do was go home and lay in bed with his console.

“I’m so glad we could get together. Rishid and I will clean up, okay?”

“Thank you!” 

Bakura turned with a halfhearted wave at the group and walked out, itching to leave. He had done what he had promised, and attended without causing problems. It took Ryou a few minutes to make his way back out to the car, during which Bakura could only imagine he had been receiving lots of hugs. 

The drive home was fairly quiet at first, but when the car pulled into their apartment complex, Bakura grabbed the bags from where he’d set them at his feet and waited, only then realizing Ryou wasn’t moving. A quick glance over, and Bakura found himself startled by the tears that made their way down that pale face.

“They threw me a party,” Ryou sniffled, and something hurt inside Bakura, though he wasn’t sure what.

He paused, unsure what to say.

A few seconds later, Ryou turned and beamed at him brightly, looking like a kid on Christmas.

“I had so much fun.”

Right, this was Ryou. The boy who had wished for friends in his school sandbox when he was young. The one who had always felt like an outcast, and had become even more of one due to what he, Bakura, had done.

That didn’t matter now, though, so he sent him an unsure half-grin and pulled the bags up over his shoulders. Ryou gasped, broken momentarily out of his reverie.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll help!”

By the time they got up the stairs, Ryou’s yawning made it obvious that it was ‘bedtime’. As such, Bakura started turning off lights and stowed the box of leftover barbecue back into the fridge, eager to get back to his bedroom and forget all about the day.

There was about an hour of before-bed preparations on Ryou’s end, during which Bakura could hear the bathroom water running and the brushing of teeth. Since he planned to be up for quite awhile, as usual, he busied himself instead by putting away the food-type gifts where they belonged in the kitchen, and then draping himself onto the living room sofa, hanging his head back upside-down like a bat over one of the soft plush arms with his Switch held out in front of his face. 

“Oh, Bakura,” Ryou eventually called out from the hall where he was sliding on his slippers. “I need to deposit Dad’s check tomorrow morning. Can you give me my wallet?”

Dad’s check…

Wallet.

Bakura twitched as he reached down to his pants, feeling around. He had had it to buy the drinks…

Ryou looked at him, and he swallowed unsurely, checking his back pockets. 

“Uh, shit.”

“Did you leave it there…?” his roommate inquired, big brown eyes making him feel guiltier with every passing moment. 

“I had it,” he tried to defend, like a kid who was about to be reprimanded. “I’ll call the place.”

Ryou set his shoulder bag down and pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking down at the screen “Oh! Malik says he has it.”

God damn it.

Frowning, Bakura moved up behind Ryou to read the message he saw there on the screen, a photo of the familiar white wallet with the text:

_Sister found this while we were cleaning up. Tried to call you. Do you want me to drop it off tomorrow?_

Bakura wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved, or irritated, so he settled on the latter and looked at the clock. One of the things he had learned quickly after his reincarnation was that rent was supposed to be paid by the first of the month, with a two or three-day grace period, and it was already the 2nd…

“Go to bed,” he resolved, pulling his jacket back on that he had just shucked to the side. “I’ll go get it.”

Ryou seemed surprised by that and looked at him hesitantly. “Are you sure…? I could ask him to come over.”

“No. Give me your phone,” Bakura insisted, holding his hand out and snatching it. Clearly, this was his fault, and he didn’t think he wanted the secondhand embarrassment of Ryou having to apologize for him. Not to mention the fact that, still, at his core, he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted that bastard.

“If you’re sure. Thanks.” Ryou smiled, and sent Bakura a wave before turning in the direction of the hall. “Just leave it on the counter for me when you get back, okay?”

Grunting in assent, Bakura snatched Ryou’s car keys and let himself back out, locking up quickly and feeling the bitter embarrassment wash over him like the cold air over his pale cheeks.

He wondered absently whether Malik had stolen the thing as he shoved himself into the driver’s seat of the car, recalling Ryou’s frequent warnings about driving safely. He really needed to get a license, at some point, but how did one even do that when they weren’t supposed to exist? Irrationally irritated by the whole thing, he typed out a quick message of _‘send me ur address I’m coming to pick it up’_. Thankfully, Malik replied fast, so he put the address into the maps app and thrust the car into reverse, tearing a little too fast through the dark lot and onto the street. 

The house the Ishtars were apparently renting out was about half an hour away, on the less busy, north end of town, actually fairly close to the location of the bowling alley they had come from. Bakura absently recalled the blonde saying that Isis was there on business, and that he himself was on a ‘vacation’ of sorts- What kind of people rented a HOUSE for a vacation? 

Teeth grit, he slowed to a stop outside the fairly standard family-style Japanese house. He really should have just made the guy come to him.

Determined to get this over with quickly, he left the car parked at the side of the road and made his way up to the front door, chancing a look up at the windows. Of the three he could see, only one appeared to have a dim orange light glowing out into the night. He knocked, hoping once would be enough.

He didn’t hear much over the next few passing seconds, but when the door opened, he was surprised by what he saw. 

It was Malik, predictably, but instead of wearing the fairly standard casual clothes he had had on earlier that day, he was clothed in a dark purple robe that stopped mid-thigh, and his eye makeup had obviously already been removed. That same floral scent from earlier wafted towards him, this time far more pungent, and the strange and visceral reaction he had led Bakura to move backwards a step, not even thinking as the words came to his lips.

“What is that, lotus?”

He didn’t know where that had come from, and Malik’s surprise was obvious, lavender eyes widening beneath his feathered blonde bangs.

“…You can tell?” the man inquired softly, probably surprised it was Bakura who had appeared at the door, and not Ryou, but also clearly unsure about where this was heading. Bakura nodded his head, half-shrugging.

“God knows how.”

Seemingly uncertain, Malik nodded and turned on his heel, giving Bakura a better look into the furnished hallway. “You can come in. I took the wallet upstairs.”

Malik wasn’t just making him wait outside while he went and got it?

Perhaps it could have been attributed to the awkwardness of the situation (after all, Bakura most certainly hadn’t wanted to be there at the dead of night, either, looking at Malik in what was probably his pajamas), but something in Malik’s tone was decidedly different from earlier- The smoothness and general sass had been replaced with a softness, something that seemed decidedly less sarcastic and much less taunting. Maybe this should have made Bakura feel better, but he knew immediately that he didn’t like it. After all, their “relationship” as reluctant rivals was pretty much reliant on general back-and-forth, but there was something in the air among that lotus smell that made Bakura hesitant to try to irritate him.

Thus, not wanting to seem a coward, he stepped inside unsurely and closed the door behind him, following Malik up the staircase. 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Valentines Day, everyone. 
> 
> Thanks to those of you who left me such sweet reviews on Chapter 2. Your lovely feedback really meant the world to me these past couple weeks <3
> 
> Finally, we’re starting to get some tension. ;)

\--

The gentle glow of light he had observed from outside filtered in at the top of the staircase, where Malik turned and made a right, passing by a couple doors and heading into the room there at the end. Bakura stepped into the bedroom that looked vaguely like a hotel room might, with the clean white bedspread and the desk with a lamp and a laptop on top.

“I didn’t know you could Airbnb an entire house,” he mumbled under his breath a little derisively.

“It’s myself, sister, and Rishid. We need three bedrooms.” Malik punctuated the statement by reaching towards the desk, picking up the wallet Bakura had come for and offering it over to him. The floral scent was stronger, now, and Bakura’s eyes followed the smell over to a small jar sitting on the bedside table.

“You wear too much of that perfume,” he commented, trying to break the ice somewhat. It wasn’t that he cared about Malik’s feelings, of course, but the weird aura he was getting from the situation was making him uneasy.

“It’s lotus flower balm,” the blonde stated, tone clipped. “It helps the pain in my back. I bring it from home.”

Normally, Bakura was sure Malik’s voice would have sounded dismissive, but something in his inflection seemed somewhat nervous. Back pain…?

He looked at the Egyptian for a moment, taking in the sight of the too-short robe and the smell of flowers. Okay, so it wasn’t like Malik Isthar had ever come across as the most masculine person in the world, but this was almost too much. While his clothes years back had always struck Bakura as fairly normal, maybe slightly on the fashion-conscious side, the Malik he was seeing now was just too…demure, or something. Catching him at a vulnerable moment was actually kind of a thrill, since he had always sort of felt like he had to compete with this guy, and often felt like he had been the loser to him, and his dark side, in the past.

He snickered, and Malik frowned.

“What?”

“What in God’s name are you wearing?” Bakura couldn’t help but jab. “You look like a trollop.”

Malik reeled back slightly, actually looking self-conscious. “Excuse me?”

“Like a Pharaoh’s...tch.” Bakura couldn’t help it. Maybe it was just that he couldn’t fully embrace any of his less-PG sides with Ryou always around. He smirked in amusement and made a vague up-and-down gesture with his fingers curled on one hand. The startled stare was totally worth it and he cackled hard, bending at the waist and clutching his stomach.

“Like…what? A concubine?!”

Bakura grinned. “I believe ‘catamite’ would be the correct term. You should know, mister tomb-keeper.”

“I’ll have you know,” Malik whispered coldly, voice a far cry from that sweet thing he had used at the party earlier. “That the Pharaoh has no fucking control over my life anymore. Do you understand?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bakura hummed back, temptation to rub salt in the wound just too great. “Seems like I hit a nerve.”

Malik took a broad step into his personal space, gripping suddenly onto his shoulders and shunting him warningly backwards into the wall. Never before had Bakura been quite this face-to-face with Malik’s physical body, and the tanned hands were warm and abrupt against his chest. Their gazes met, and in his moment of surprise, Bakura couldn’t help but notice the robe sleeve drifting slowly down one shoulder, falling towards Malik’s elbow. 

His glance downwards seemed to draw Malik’s attention to his slipping garment. Quickly, the Egyptian promptly let go of his visitor and backed up a few paces, turning to the side as he pulled the sleeve back up over his bicep. Bakura couldn’t help but notice the residual scars that made their way up over Malik’s shoulder blade in the form of hieroglyphs, familiar ones that he had always known of, but never really observed in-person. The scars looked somewhat purple- angry, as though they were bruising, despite their obvious age. Within a few seconds, though, they were covered up again.

“You can leave, now,” Malik eventually said, voice having calmed down even as he glared over in Bakura’s general direction. The silence that followed was even more uncomfortable than earlier. Bakura, though affronted and definitely tempted to aggress on him in return, found himself rubbing at the back of his head with a wince and just looking back at him instead. 

“You heard me,” the blonde said when he didn’t move. “Take your insults to someone who deserves them. I’m not my dark side.”

“At least he could take a joke,” Bakura managed, eyes falling on the large laptop that sat on the desk in the corner of the room. The symbols there gave him momentary pause, and he found himself walking over towards the screen, eyeing the photo there.

It was an image of what looked like a small clay pot with hieroglyphs painted over the front. Interestingly, despite the clear antiquity of the artifact, the photograph looked like it was taken with a modern camera phone. Bakura sensed movement, and glanced to see Malik standing beside him, arms folded. 

“What are you so interested in?”

“What’s this?” Bakura asked, leaning back in to inspect the photo. The longer he stayed, the stranger the situation seemed to become. It was far past dark outside, and the guy was here in his room at night with every light on and his laptop open, looking at some weird ancient artifact and smelling like a freaking strawberry shortcake. It wasn’t like the Malik he had known, at all, the calculating bastard who sat on his laurels while his manservant fulfilled his every selfish whim.

“What do you care?” the blonde replied, voice gentle, as though he was surprised Bakura hadn’t taken the hint and left. “If you must know, I’m helping Sister translate.”

Translate? He knew Isis was involved with museum exhibits of ancient Egyptian items, but Malik was involved with that, too?

“Thought you were on vacation.”

Malik sighed, and Bakura noticed he was starting to look a little tired. “I’m the family heir. I was taught to read the scripts better than my siblings.”

Bakura studied the clay pot, and, without really processing what he was doing, sounded out what he could see there. 

“Tu-a-mu…tef,” he tried, blinking.

Whoa. He turned to face Malik, who looked right back at him with eyes the size of baseballs.

“…How can you read it?” the blonde murmured, and Bakura just shook his head, breathing out a huff of disbelief. 

“I dunno,” he admitted, saying the first thing that came to mind. “Guess some more of my shitty past is coming back to me.”

While the situation probably should have been growing in awkwardness, there was a confusing yet melting familiarity in the air of the room, one that made no sense and yet somehow seemed nostalgic. It almost reminded Bakura of the beginnings of that dream that tended to wake him up in the middle of the night, but before the smoke and fire and screaming part- it reminded him of the evening sky part, the river-air smell and the star-filled sky. He was starting to wonder what the hell type of psychosis he was experiencing. Maybe Malik was holding the Rod behind his back and controlling his thoughts so that they were total nonsense. 

“…I have to go,” he decided, turning around and making sure the wallet was safely in his back pocket. When he walked into the doorway, though, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned back.

“What?”

“I’ll duel you.” Malik was looking at him with anticipation, catching Bakura off-guard. He shrugged the hand off of himself.

“I don’t have my deck,” he replied. “Why would I?”

“We can split some of my cards,” the blonde suggested suddenly, making his way over to the corner of the room where Bakura noticed a piece of travel luggage sitting on the floor. Malik knelt, showing off more thigh than he probably intended to as he dug around, holding up two boxes. “I can make us a couple of decks at random.”

The enthusiasm was unexpected. Immediately suspicious, Bakura looked around the room. Honestly, he was pretty ready to just step out of there, and yet…this was his chance. Maybe he could finally show Malik that he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

“You literally just told me to get out.”

“I’m feeling charitable tonight,” Malik replied as he shuffled the cards with an obvious deftness. “I’m willing to give you a chance to back some of those words up. I mean, unless you’re just that sure you can’t win.”

It was an easy taunt, and Bakura almost hated himself for walking over to him, sitting down on the floor across from Malik and holding his hand out demandingly. 

“Talk about bipolar. Perhaps you should get that head of yours checked for other occupants,” he grumbled, taking his half of the cards. 

“I was trying to lighten the mood,” Malik replied. “Sue me.”

“Maybe I should,” Bakura muttered dryly. “Then I’d have the money to move out of that fucking apartment.”

It was a more honest statement than anything he had meant to say. The Egyptian set his own deck down and drew a full hand of cards, tilting his head slightly.

“You don’t like living with Ryou?”

Bakura sighed, selecting his own hand from the top of his stack.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like living with someone you tormented for over a decade?”

For whatever reason, he wasn’t doing a particularly good job of keeping his innermost considerations to himself that night. Maybe it was the strangeness of the situation, the house he had never been in, the person from his past dressed like he had never seen before. Maybe it was the shock of learning he could read out sounds in a language he couldn’t speak if you asked him to. When he looked up, Bakura found that the blonde actually wasn’t watching him, and had instead averted his gaze to the side with a little smile, as though he was observing the bed-skirt or desk chair.

“Yes, actually,” Malik eventually replied, starting the game with a single card face-down in defense mode. 

Bakura was surprised. Somehow, that wasn’t the reply he had expected, but…

“Rishid has always been there for me,” Malik continued, with the air of someone who was starting to get lost in thought. “I was taught to treat him as my servant. Father beat him bloody so many times. ” His lips turned up at the sides, and the smile he had was undeniably sad, but not bitter or sarcastic- His voice sounded light, as though it was a relief to unload such things from his psyche. “I can never forgive myself for the part I played in all the pain he endured.”

Malik’s eyes closed, and Bakura noticed his shoulders slumped as he exhaled.

“All we can do is try to make things right.”

The display of honesty and vulnerability made Bakura feel decidedly uncomfortable. He set down his own face-down card, as well as a monster card in attack mode.

“Didn’t you say you grew up in a hole in the ground?” he thought aloud after a few seconds of silence, recalling the conversation they had had in the grocery store a couple of weeks back. “That’d drive anybody crazy.”

Malik exhaled a soft puff of laughter into his palm. Horrifyingly, Bakura felt like his guts had warmed up and looked away. 

“Your turn.”

Malik drew another card, looking down at his hand. “You could say that,” he thought aloud, obviously considering his options for his next move. “What about you?”

Bakura watched Malik set down a stronger monster, wincing as his own card was swept up and calculating the 200 LP damage in his head. “What about me?”

“I think we could both use a free therapy session,” the blonde hummed. “Unless you think you’d like to pay me for my time.”

“Yeah, right,” Bakura snorted, trying to hide the fact that he was actually amused and drawing his own card. “Not that you don’t look like the type who invites men into their house late at night and takes their money.”

He didn’t know what he had expected, but the soft and emphatic giggles of laughter weren’t it. Malik’s eyes narrowed as he laughed, cupping a hand over his mouth as he snickered and grinned back at him.

“Are you propositioning me?” he lilted, and Bakura felt his stomach get heavy when he placed his hands on the floor and raised his chin at him in a way that almost seemed coy. “Or maybe you aren’t into guys with long hair and tattoos.”

There was no denying it anymore. Clearly, the weird itchy feeling he experienced whenever sitting near Malik wasn’t just due to the awkwardness that went along with meeting someone again after so long. Had this dynamic been part of their relationship before? Was this why Malik’s mere existence had always sort of annoyed him? 

A whole slew of questions began stewing around in his brain, ranging from whether Ryou had maybe figured out his sexuality and mentioned something to Malik in passing, or whether Malik, undeniably intelligent fiend that he was, had just garnered that information from observing his general state of being somehow. Maybe his ancient repressed memories of himself and Egypt were to blame- after all, Bakura himself was, at his core, an Egyptian man, even though he sure as hell didn’t look like it and didn’t really identify that way anymore. Maybe something about Malik’s general appearance, with his dark skin and kohl-rimmed eyes, was merely setting off a recognizability factor in his brain somewhere that lit up, despite his better judgment? 

He must have looked bewildered, because Malik hummed and pointed at his borrowed deck to get him to draw.

The next hour or so was accompanied by some more general competitive banter, mostly focused on the cards they were playing in each turn. Slowly, over time, each of their decks began to dwindle. It was an enormous disappointment when Bakura went to draw, and found his fingertips hitting carpet. Immediately, he glanced over at Malik’s deck and grit his teeth to see a few cards still there, glaring over at the smug expression he was getting in return.

“Heh. I win,” Malik smiled and set his hand down, eyes lidded in that absolutely infuriating self-satisfaction Bakura remembered so well. 

Bakura sniffed. “I didn’t even have my own cards. That was all luck.”

“Maybe,” the blonde replied fairly agreeably, gathering the cards back up into one large pile and reaching for Bakura’s hand. Their fingers brushed, and Bakura tensed up immediately, reminded somehow about his entire reason for coming in the first place.

“…I need to go.”

Malik paused, as though he too had lost track of time. “Oh.”

Bakura checked his back pocket, making sure he had the wallet where he thought he did. “I have to go to the ATM. Ryou’s father sends our rent check every month.” 

He didn’t know why he was bothering to explain himself, but Malik’s slightly unsure and hesitant expression at least made him feel like he wasn’t alone in feeling awkward. After all, it wasn’t like either of them had expected one another’s company.

“…I see,” Malik eventually replied and got up, walking over to his desk and sitting back down at the laptop, where Bakura presumed he had probably been working before he had arrived. “Say hello to Ryou, for me.”

The clock on the desk told him it was 1:28AM. Bakura looked at the number, then over to Malik, who was already studying that stupid photo again and picking up the pen that sat to the right of the mouse.

“Do you ever sleep?” he asked. Sure, Bakura himself was a night owl, but he had thought he was in the minority.

Malik’s self-conscious expression came back for a moment, and Bakura almost felt guilty to have caused that. In a split second decision, he reached out with his right hand demandingly.

“Give me your phone.”

Malik appeared genuinely bewildered when he turned in his chair.

“What for?”

“We’re dueling again with our own decks,” Bakura replied, maybe a little too quickly, not wanting there to be any mistaking his intentions. “I’ll give you my number. You can text me when you’re ready to lose.”

The apprehension and confusion he felt was somewhat ameliorated by the way Malik slowly reached into the pocket on his robe, taking out his phone and offering it to him. Bakura noticed at once that the phone was warm, probably due to being in proximity with Malik’s bare skin, and promptly added his number into the contact list. He took his own phone out as well to add Malik’s number to his, glancing at the Egyptian before typing in the sassiest contact name he could think of and returning the phone to Malik’s hand.

If nothing else, Bakura figured having his number might come in handy for some social interaction on those late nights when Ryou was long since asleep.

He muttered a goodbye and left the room without further commentary, heading down the stairs and shutting the front door behind him. The cold immediately bit into his cheeks and he walked quickly over to Ryou’s car, wishing he had worn a better coat. Still, compared to the brightness in that bedroom, the dark of night felt like an immediate relief.

Bakura sighed and turned the keys in the ignition, trying to ignore the massive amount of questions that were already springing up in his mind.

As promised, he visited the ATM and deposited the funds before he headed home. Silently as possible, he locked the front door upon his return and immediately went down the dark hallway to his room, laying down on the unmade bed. It had felt like a long day, but it took awhile for him to fall asleep.

Back in Battle City, Bakura had never once conceived that he had ever thought of Malik as…physically appealing, at least, not consciously. More than anything, he had regarded him as a partner in crime, and simultaneously, a potential danger. Someone with followers, and strength, and skill that was to be regarded with some caution. Nowadays, it was clear he still possessed a great deal of intellect, but Bakura found himself a lot less intimidated and a lot more…enticed by this seemingly new side of the same person.

Frustrated, he covered his head with a pillow and forced himself further down into the mattress, groaning.

Being so entirely human was a pain in the ass. 

\--

_The limestone buildings were dark in the light of the flames that roared behind them, the sky a gradient of bright, thick orange that faded upwards into the deep blue of the night. As he hid, he could smell smoke so clearly, could taste it in the back of his throat. The screams were shrill, and they roared and rang between his ears…_

Jolting awake, Bakura found himself tucked beneath the white sheets as usual, neck so stiff it hurt and heart hammering away at his ribs.

That fucking dream again.

Yawning, he promptly got to his feet and headed into the adjoined bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went.

As he sat in the bathtub under the hot water, everything from the night before started to come back to him. He probably should have been more concerned with how in the hell he could read those hieroglyphs, or whether he had managed to deposit their rent check on time for it to clear by that morning when it needed to, but his mind kept going back to that big, amethyst-colored gaze and the smug but sweet smile.

Bakura lathered the soap over himself and shook his long hair out under the stream of water, swearing he could still taste that lotus somewhere at the back of his tongue. Okay, so maybe Malik was…attractive, objectively speaking. Whatever. That didn’t have to mean anything to him. Just because Bakura happened to be attracted to men didn’t mean he had to let that fact disturb him so much.

He groaned. Bakura didn’t exactly get out much, but it was undeniable that Malik had a particularly different look to most people, especially in Japan, where most of the population made an effort to blend in and kept fairly modest in their attire. Malik stood out, certainly, with his jewelry and other distinctly regal features, and the feathery, soft blonde hair and tanned skin that set him apart from most everyone else around. It was more than that, though. His general gestures, the soft curve of his lips, the thick eyelashes…

Bakura felt like the gods were laughing at him, bringing that asshole back into his life like this.

Once he had gotten out of the shower and dressed, the sound of actual laughter brought him out of his innermost thoughts. He had almost certainly slept late enough for Ryou to be home from work by now. Tensing, wondering just when his roommate had become so popular as to have so many visitors, he crept over to the bedroom door and listened for a few moments.

“Yeah, seriously! They both showed up. Mokuba, too.”

“I haven’t seen them in years.”

“No kidding. He totally pretended like he didn’t see me, too, that stuck-up jerk.”

Bakura felt a chill go through him when he recognized the voice. Spurred into action, he walked out of his bedroom and immediately was caught by two staring pairs of brown eyes from the dining-room table. 

The blood drained visibly out of Jonouchi’s face, even as he gave what Bakura guessed was supposed to be a friendly smile. A quick glance downwards showed Bakura the horrifying reality that the blonde’s arm was down around the back of Ryou’s chair, dangerously close to encircling his roommate in a half-embrace as they both hunched around what looked like some kind of playing cards he didn’t recognize.

“Oh, Bakura!” Obviously startled, Ryou immediately pushed up from where he was sitting and pointed over towards the kitchen. “Sorry if we woke you up. I made some omurice for lunch, if you want some.”

Bakura gritted his teeth when Jonouchi scooted back awkwardly, having to quash urge to get in his face and make him feel even more regretful of whatever he was trying to pull.

“What are you doing here?” he settled for asking, looking at the blonde with a frown. Jonouchi tensed, holding up the cards as if they were his only excuse.

“Uh, Yugi’s grandpa’s game shop just got this new game in,” he explained, settling on an awkward laugh. “We were just messing around.”

“I can see that,” Bakura stated. He knew that, logically, he had no reason to be upset about a thing like this. If anything, he should be glad that Ryou had someone he enjoyed spending time with, but did it have to be this idiot?

“It’s okay,” Ryou quickly reassured, walking in front of Bakura with a hesitant smile. The embarrassment on his face deterred Bakura from pressing further. Sighing, the taller male made his way into the kitchen and loaded up a bowl with what was left of Ryou’s late lunch, keeping a listening ear out. 

“Yeah, we can play sometime, if you want.”

“Sure. Do you still live in that apartment with your, ahm…”

“Oh, my old man? Nah, he died a couple years ago.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry!”

Bakura brought his food back to his room and sat down on the floor, doing his best to ignore that conversation. As he ate, he became aware of the soft buzzing of his phone and glanced over to his device where it sat on the bedside table. Aside from Ryou, nobody ever really messaged him…

Caught by curiosity, he got up and walked over to pick it up, reading the contact name and message on the home screen with a jolt of realization.

**Malibu Barbie ******

********

****

_hey you awake?_

His stomach twisted. Disturbed by his own physical reaction, he hesitated for a moment before taking his phone back over to the foot of the bed and sitting down, thinking for a few moments before sending off a sarcastic message in reply. 

_No. I can text in my sleep._

Bakura set his phone down, only to hear his phone vibrate again a few moments later and turn it face-up again.

_so you are skilled at something_

That little bitch.

Ego sore, he folded his legs beneath him and messaged him back quickly.

_No offer for a rematch? You must be scared._

_just basking in the glory of my victory ;)_

Like hell Bakura was planning to let him have the last laugh. Maybe it hadn’t been the worst thing in the world, though, actually having someone to spend time with late into the night when nobody else was typically awake. 

_If you’re looking for someone to beat, you’ll  
have to settle for Yugi’s pity-case. He’s here now._

_Jonouchi?? he’s all over Ryou lately haha_

_No shit._

Bakura texted back in annoyance. For someone who had been raised so far away from normal modern society, Malik certainly texted like a high-school girl. The reply he received a few moments later made his breath stop.

_what about you? have your eye on anyone?_

The smart thing to do would have been to put his phone down and pick up his Switch, but Bakura couldn’t help but move his fingers back over the on-screen keyboard.

_Maybe. Who’s to say?_

_do i know him?_

Once again Bakura wondered when their relationship had transitioned into this decidedly friendly thing, and he found himself setting his phone down onto the bed, forgetting about his leftover food as he cupped his face in his hands. 

His cheeks were hot, and he could tell he was flushing. Damn it. Not wanting to seem like he was reacting, though, he picked the phone back up.

_Who says I like men?_

_you don’t??_

_i guess i read you wrong_

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

_i mean you asked for my number_

Bakura promptly pressed his phone back down onto the mattress, burrowing his face into his arms. It was just like this guy to fucking hold that against him. Couldn’t the universe have had some decency to reincarnate him without such stupid and base reactions such as these?

He didn’t want to appear intimidated, of course, so he picked up his phone and typed out a couple replies in a row, bowl of omurice all but forgotten at his side.

_So I can beat your ass._

_I’m willing to set some stakes._

_i’m listening_

_Winner buys food for the loser. Sushi or steak. Expensive shit._

_Also, winner takes the loser’s strongest card._

_i’m a vegetarian, Bakura_

That Bakura hadn’t known. Leave it to Malik to be lame as hell.

_Whatever. You’re losing anyways._

_Doesn’t matter._

_i suppose you could treat me so some udon_

_deal~_

It wasn’t as though Bakura had a job to go to during the day, so his schedule was fairly open, but he didn’t know what times Malik wasn’t going to be occupied with translating, or whatever else he was doing on his so-called ‘vacation’. If he were honest with himself, Bakura’s main concern was making sure Ryou didn’t know that he was paying Malik a visit. Though perhaps more worldly nowadays than ever before, Ryou still had the habit of being particularly…innocent and kind. If he knew, Ryou would probably try to stop him from going, thinking he was trying to pick a fight with the “nice” guy who had been kind enough to throw him his first ever birthday party. Ryou didn’t always know his work hours more than a few days in advance, but he tended to have longer shifts on days right before the weekend hit, so maybe if Bakura could get out of the house before he got back from work...

_Has to be early enough to get food._

_Friday at 4. Your place._

Bakura did his best to ignore the physical reactions he was having as he set his phone down and stood up, almost feeling like he needed to take a second shower. This was stupid. At the very least, he could end this ridiculous ‘friendship’ by earning himself a good dinner and some bragging rights before Malik fucked right off back to his home country.

Sighing heavily, he glanced down and read the screen a final time.

_you’re demanding_

_friday it is_

\--


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left me kudos and comments. I'm working rather slowly on this story, but I do intend to see it through to the end. Stay tuned!

\--

Bakura had halfway assumed that his and Malik’s plans for another duel would go by the wayside. Thus, when Friday afternoon arrived with sunshine pouring into his bedroom, he was surprised to see the single message sitting on his home screen.

_3:17AM_  
_be ready to lose again tomorrow at 4_

Incensed, Bakura immediately sat up in bed in his oversized t-shirt and boxers, sending back a couple of quick replies.

_You’ll be eating those words, Ishtar._

_And I’ll be eating steak._

Thankfully, Bakura found that Ryou had already gone to work earlier that morning, and thus had not yet arrived home. A little lime-green sticky note attached to the refrigerator alerted him to the presence of two meat buns inside, which he scarfed down cold before checking the time. They had decided on 4PM, so he still had a couple of hours to psych himself up and come up with a strategy to beat that bastard once and for all. Ryou had undoubtedly taken the car to work, so he would probably have to grab an Uber there once he was ready to go.

As he surveyed his cards, Bakura began picking through what he had, selecting certain ones and placing others to the side. It had been a surprise to him, upon his reincarnation, that Ryou actually did still own the cards that had made up his deck. Whether that was due to some of them also technically being Ryou’s cards, or it had something to do with how Ryou had missed his presence, well… Bakura tried not to think about it. It wasn’t really as though he, himself, had been the major orchestrator behind any of his more nefarious duel-monsters related transgressions, anyways.

Once he had selected a full deck, he shrugged on some regular jeans and a black shirt. He caught himself checking his reflection in the hallway mirror and promptly stopped himself, shoving his deck into his pocket and promptly leaving through the front door.

Bakura remembered his and Malik’s last duel as he sat in the back of the minivan, ignoring the bad R&B music humming in the background and instead immersing himself in his and the Egyptian’s message thread on his phone. He couldn’t help but wonder not only about Malik’s motives, but well, his own, too. It wasn’t like dueling had any substantial affect on reality nowadays, especially not in their current situation.

It was just a pride thing, probably. Like hell he’d let some big-eyed, perfume-wearing tart in a robe overthrow him in a game he knew so well.

When he arrived outside of the familiar house, Bakura muttered his thanks to the driver and shoved his phone back into his pocket, approaching the front door between the manicured bushes out front. The house, though obviously the right one, did look a little different in broad daylight.

Realizing he wasn’t entirely sure whether to expect the other two siblings to be awake and present, Bakura unsurely knocked at the front door twice, waiting.

When there was no response after a few moments, Bakura knocked again, this time three times, and with more force. There didn’t seem to be a doorbell. Irritation began to mount within him when there was, for whatever reason, still no response. Was this part of the guy’s plan? Maybe Malik wasn’t even in, and had deliberately left the house to fuck with him.

Typical. Annoyed, Bakura pulled his phone out of his pocket, a little surprised that Malik hadn’t replied to his earlier text. He sent another, shifting from foot to foot.

_I’m at your front door._

No response.

Bakura gritted his teeth. What was he doing, powdering his nose? He continued to stare at his phone, waiting for the sassy message he completely expected to receive. Another couple minutes, and there was still nothing. After awhile, he even found himself checking the date and weekday on his home screen, trying to make sure he wasn’t somehow misunderstanding the arrangement.

It was 4:12PM, and Bakura felt like fire ants were biting up the back of his neck. The nerve of this guy, inviting him over and then not even answering the door! What was he, scared? Having second thoughts? Just not caring?

Too proud to just walk away, he slowly made his way past the front of the house and into the car-port area on the east end of the facade, noting that there were no vehicles parked there.

A second door in the corner of the car-port caught his attention. Slowly, he approached the door and pulled at the knob, eyes narrowing when it stopped fast in his hand. Locked. Determination grew within him as he glanced around, looking for some way, any way, to get himself inside.

He was not letting Malik have the last laugh.

As he pushed his phone back into his pocket, Bakura felt something flex firmly against his palm. He looked down and slowly wrapped his fingers around it, fishing out what looked like a hair pin from inside. A quick glance down showed him that he was wearing a pair of Ryou’s pants, as evidenced by the too-cute scalloped details around the pockets. It figured. Ryou was always putting his bangs up. He sighed, but his dark eyes lingered on the pointed ends.

He wasn’t good at many things, nowadays, but this seemed to be within his realm of competence.

It took about five minutes before the door handle gave way, and the door slowly eased itself open. Lips turning up into a victorious grin, Bakura tucked the pin away and made his way inside, quietly shutting the door behind him.

His resolve strengthened as he looked around what appeared to be the kitchen, able to see the back of the stairway he had used the week prior when he had gone up to Malik’s bedroom. For all he knew, the asshole was up there painting his toenails and watching a chick flick, or maybe he was just way too focused on preparing for his inevitable defeat. Deciding it wouldn’t be as much fun to announce his presence, he snuck his way silently up the wood steps, and down the hall towards the bedroom at the very end.

The door was slightly ajar. Waiting a few moments, not hearing any sounds from behind it, Bakura took a breath and quickly shoved it open, cackle building in his chest when he realized the room was empty.

“What the fuck?!” he spat, plan ruined. Batwings perked on his head, totally irritated to find that Malik didn’t even seem to be home, he glanced quickly around the room, noticing the made bed and laptop that still sat on the side table, this time closed rather than open and on. His eyes wandered, and he was about to leave the room when he noticed the horizontal stream of light that ran underneath the bathroom door.

He studied it, and a soft and startling groan met his ears, muffled from behind the wood.

Bakura stood there. Okay, so everything about the situation suggested that it would be smartest to just turn around and walk out of there. He could always send him a text message later and make fun of him for jerking off, or watching movies on the toilet, or whatever the fuck was going on in there. It would be even funnier, because as long as he left quietly, Malik would have no way of knowing he ever showed up, and Bakura could maybe get away with pretending like he just somehow knew all of his embarrassing secrets, or something-

As he eyed the strip of wood flooring that peeked out from beneath the door, however, a slow rivulet of deep red came into his field of vision, and he froze.

His breath stopped in his chest, and his fingers felt cold. All at once, Malik’s lack of reply to his text messages, and his failure to answer the door…they bathed the moment in a different sheen. Curiosity clawed at him. His heart beat in his throat as Bakura took a few slow paces forward and pulled open the door, shocked into silence.

Blood. The smell of it hit the back of Bakura’s throat when he inhaled in shock, totally stunned into silence. Malik was there on his knees, arms clutching his head, bronze hand completely covered in splattered red. The side of his blonde hair was coated in crimson, and he hunched over the bathroom counter in a long-sleeved grey shirt, the right sleeve of which was marred with thick lines of blood.

Bakura zeroed in on his face, the way his mouth and nose were buried in the crook of his elbow, and met the hazy lavender eyes that slowly drifted over to meet his, seeing the way the blood streamed over his forehead and clung to his thick eyelashes.

There were pools of it on the counter, over the edge, dripping onto the floor…

He took a step forward, and Malik tensed up visibly, as though physically afraid of his approach. All the confusion within Bakura was lost to inexplicable panic as he stepped forward again. He reached for him, only to watch in utter disbelief as Malik’s eyes fell closed and he drifted to the side, entire body all but dropping off the counter and falling fast towards the floor.

Bakura dropped to both knees, barely managing to catch his head before it made impact. When Malik’s hand slipped away from his skull, Bakura became immediately aware of the fresh blood that streamed down over his leg and onto his borrowed pants, soaking through, hot and wet. Eyes darting around, looking for something, anything he could use, he all but ripped the hanging white towel from the shower rod and folded it in his shivering hands, pressing it against the side of Malik’s face and fumbling to get his cell phone out of his pocket.

As it was, he didn’t dare move him, so he didn’t think he had a choice.

“119. What is your emergency?” the operator inquired, voice calm.

“Someone’s bleeding out, here,” he rasped, and tried hard to remember the address.

\--

All in all, this certainly wasn’t how Bakura had anticipated spending his day.

As it were, the paramedics had responded to his call quickly. The three men had loaded Malik onto a stretcher and beckoned for Bakura to follow along. He had sat in the back of the ambulance silently while they elevated Malik’s head, pressing and wrapping the side of it with compression bindings to keep the bleeding under control. Unsure what to do besides trail behind, Bakura then found himself accompanying the stretcher into the ER through the sliding glass doors, only to be stopped in the waiting area and told he needed to sit down while they stabilized Malik in the emergency ward.

Night had fallen since they had arrived, and Bakura found himself looking out through the glass automatic doors at the night sky. While he sat there ignoring the murmuring of receptionists behind the front desk, he observed the red smear that streaked across his upper forearm, images of Malik’s hazy and panicked gaze drifting in and out of his conscious thought.

He felt his phone vibrate in his blood-soaked pocket, and he reached down for it, seeing the name on the Caller ID and wincing as he held the phone up to his ear.

“Bakura! You weren’t replying to my texts.”

“…Yeah,” Bakura eventually managed, hearing the soft voice on the other end of the line.

“Where are you?”

“Hospital,” he stated. The gasp of panic was audible over the receiver. “Not for me. I’m fine.”

“What? What’s the matter? What happened?”

Bakura swallowed, not sure how much he wanted to go into detail. Although the police hadn’t shown up yet, he was certain he would be asked to speak to them sooner, or later, given that he was the only witness to what had just happened. He could only hope Malik wasn’t enough of a dick to pin this on him, somehow.

“Malik,” he stated simply, realizing that lying would probably just create more problems. “Went to his place and he was bleeding out all over the floor.”

The stunned silence from the other end of the line betrayed Ryou’s complete disbelief. Bakura couldn’t blame him. This was honestly the last thing he had been expecting to do with his afternoon, and the details of exactly what the hell had happened were a complete mystery. Just that morning, Malik had been sassing him over the phone, so…

“I’ll come now. Have you called his family?”

“I don’t know their fucking numbers,” Bakura replied in irritation, almost feeling resentful to have been put by the universe into this position. Ryou breathed quickly on the other end of the line, obviously shocked and in a hurry. It was just like Ryou to be overly concerned about someone, anyone, even this person who had only recently come back into their lives.

“I’ll be there soon! Just wait for me.”

Bakura hung up.

He continued to sit in the waiting room across from the front desk, smelling the sterile scent of disinfectant and watching patients move periodically around the right of the desk and out the front doors. Within another ten minutes, the doors on his left opened up, and Bakura slowly looked over to see the nurse that stood with a clipboard pressed to the front of her blue scrubs.

“Are you ‘Bakura Ryou’?”

He hesitated. It occurred to him suddenly that, unlike when he and his roommate had shared a body, a situation such as this could be problematic. What the hell was going to happen if he had to give a statement, or some shit, and then Ryou showed up while he was still there? It wasn’t like he had an ID or any legal explanation for his existence.

“Yeah,” he replied a moment later, standing up and reaching for the phone in his pocket. He’d have to text Ryou once he got a second alone.

“Malik is stable. He’s asking for you.”

His stomach felt heavy as he got to his feet, walking down the hallway behind the nurse. There was a relief in him, probably just due to the fact that if Malik was talking, it meant he was conscious and not dead, and thus Bakura couldn’t be charged with murder. Unsure what to expect, he slowly shuffled along to the third door down the hall, following the nurse with the two dark braids into the room and looking at the figure propped up in the bed.

It was, indeed, Malik, sitting there against the pillows with his arms at his sides. One was hooked to an IV of some kind, the bag of which was half-filled with a clear fluid. About half of his head and face, predictably, were bound with gauze, which bulged at his temple as though there was a kind of thick pad or stuffing inside. A quick glance at the surroundings displayed a cup of water and a phone, presumably Malik’s, sitting on the small table next to the bed. Their eyes met, Malik’s looking particularly clear and lavender in the low light, and Bakura was immediately torn between relief and unease when the nurse adjusted the light and promptly walked out of the room with clicking heels.

“You’re here,” the blonde stated, and Bakura was immediately set on-edge by the soft and smooth tone of his voice.

“So you aren’t dead,” he said bluntly, almost feeling bad, until Malik shot him that unimpressed stare that brought him back to the Battle City days.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Malik hummed. Bakura snorted, somehow feeling lighter.

“Hardly. I wasn’t planning on letting you escape our duel.”

The blonde actually smiled, just a little. In the few moments of silence, Bakura noticed he was dressed in an ugly mint-green hospital gown, and filed that image away in the back of his mind to make fun of him about later.

“I could be kind and let you believe I was trying,” the Egyptian finally replied, looking at his nails as though he was concerned they were dirty. His hair that wasn’t wrapped stuck up somewhat at the back of his neck, and Bakura couldn’t help but see the resemblance slightly to someone Malik probably didn’t want to be reminded of at the moment. “But it was an accident.”

“Accident, hm?”

“I suppose I’m grateful you weaseled your way into the house. I was almost down for the count, by then.”

“What did you do?” The white-haired male folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Cut yourself shaving your legs?”

Malik rolled his eyes, looking tired. “I fell while I was standing at the sink and hit my head on the faucet.”

Bakura eyed the bandaging, able to tell there was something under the wraps that was attached firmly to staunch the bleeding. Retrospectively, it was probably fortunate for the Egyptian that he himself wasn’t at all disturbed by the sight of blood. Had he also been weak and passed out at the sight of it, for example, who knew whether Malik would have bled out before someone else found them there.

“Ryou’s on his way here,” he muttered in response, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sending his roommate a quick text message telling him he’d meet him out in the parking lot. “He can call your siblings, or whatever.”

Malik winced visibly at the mention of them, for some reason, and the movement of his arm jostled the table at his left slightly, where his phone fell from the sterile metal surface and onto the floor beside the bed. He sighed, obviously exasperated by his somewhat immobile position, and Bakura felt an uncharacteristic twist of responsibility settle in his stomach. Before he could really think it through, he took a few steps towards the bed and bent down at the knee, reaching for it where it peeked out from under the bed frame.

His hand closed around it, and a soft, warm sensation against his cheek momentarily froze him where he stood.

Bakura stopped. His hand, clenched around the phone, loosened, and his eyes darted over fast, seeing only a single, dangling gold earring and an errant lock of ash-blonde hair that peeked just into the corner of his vision.

When it processed in his brain, he stood up fast and all but dropped the phone onto the mattress, eyes large, staring down at Malik who looked right back up at him with an obvious and uncharacteristic hesitance when-

His own phone vibrated in his pocket against his thigh. Ryou. Turning, he forgot about any chance of an articulate response and all but ran out of the hospital room, down the hall, and outside into the cold night air of the parking lot. He approached the familiar blue car that was parked in the front row and scrambled to pull open the passenger’s side door, hoisting himself inside.

“Bakura?”

Bakura gasped for breath, pupils dilated and heart hammering away inside his chest. He had not. No. This was a mistake.

Ryou came into his field of vision, looking extremely concerned. “What happened? Is Malik okay?”

“Yes!” Bakura snapped, reaching up to grab for his seatbelt. No. There was no fucking way that had just happened.

His roommate looked at him like he had grown another head, having just been undoing his own belt in preparation of starting out. “What’s…the matter? Is he-”

“He’s in Room 3,” Bakura managed to bite out, not intending in any way, shape, or form to say anything about what had just happened. “He’s fine. We can’t both be in there at the same time.”

Ryou seemed to register the fact that, yeah, that could potentially be confusing, given how alike they looked. Lips pressed into a concerned line, he nodded a little and opened the car door, obviously nervous.

“Does he look really bad?” he asked, obviously thinking that was the cause of Bakura’s current state. Bakura couldn’t talk. It felt like his throat was closing up, so he just shook his head quickly, desperate to be alone.

“Okay. I’ll make sure his family knows what’s going on,” Ryou promised. “Make sure to keep the doors locked. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The sound of the car door closing and the sight of the back of Ryou’s head was the greatest relief Bakura had ever experienced in his short modern life. He bent down, grabbing both hands into his mass of white hair, and tugging, letting out a guttural yell that was more of a cry than he had meant it to be

What the FUCK was that fucking bastard THINKING kissing him?!?!

Bakura felt like he was in a sauna. He wiped at his face in his arms furiously, feeling the sweat that welled up particularly under his bangs, eyes burning and heart pulsing away at the base of his throat like something living he had swallowed.

It had to be accidental. It fucking had to be. So what if they had been exchanging some stupid and suggestive banter like dumbass high school kids? It wasn’t Bakura’s fault!

His phone buzzed, and he looked down at it like it was a bomb about to go off, reaching for it with a clammy hand and nervously swiping to open the app.

**Malibu Barbie**

_that was quite the blush_

_didn’t know you had that much blood in your body_

Bakura frantically opened the message box, aware he had to say something, anything, to defend himself and his ego.

_Didn’t know you did either._

_You should keep a better handle on your monthly._

This wasn’t fair. Maybe he needed to dig around Ryou’s apartment and see if he could find some Tarot cards, or some shit to exorcise this disaster of an experience from his life, but-

_sorry_

_that was probably too much huh??_

When Bakura thought Malik couldn’t surprise him any more, the little shit just had to say something like that; something without smugness, without jest, that he didn’t know how to snap back at. He knew he should be feeling relief, interpreting that this was the universe giving him consent to ignore this person and these feelings without guilt. Instead, though, he found his breath coming in harsh pants from between his lips, and that he could still feel the tingling ghost of the soft mouth pressing against his cheek.

This was Malik, he tried to remind himself. Past wielder of a Millennium Item, threat to the Pharaoh he had hated for millennia, undoubted rival and reluctant partner in crime, a person he had only ever interacted with to prove or to gain something for himself.

As it stood, Bakura didn’t even know what he believed anymore. He had never asked for Malik to come back into his life (hell, HE had never asked to come back to this realm in the first place). Logically speaking, this was a human world of human concerns, and, though he had, at one time in his existence been very much a human, he had always thought he had been twisted so badly by Zorc and his trauma that he couldn’t feel anything resembling a human emotion anymore, much less frivolous and stupid emotions like these.

And yet… He gripped his hair again, feeling a suspicious ache move in his chest, a pain that twined, for some reason, through his upper left arm and towards his heart.

No. He didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like being vulnerable to the implications of such a stupid thing as a press of lips.

No further messages came in within the next few minutes, and it was another ten minutes or so when Ryou made it back to the car. He slipped into the driver’s seat, face more relaxed than earlier.

“I’m so glad he’s all right,” Ryou murmured and turned the key in the ignition, turning to look at Bakura, who must have been particularly pale or otherwise somehow strange-looking, given the way Ryou’s expression changed. “He called Rishid and has him on his way here…Are you sure you’re okay?”

Bakura grunted noncommittally, closing his eyes and throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light of the dashboard with the certain intent to nap.

“Yeah,” he stated, unable to look Ryou in the face. Clearly, based on his reaction, he didn’t know what had just transpired between himself and their visitor. As Ryou drove, he turned his face to the side so he hopefully couldn’t see any residual pink in his cheeks if he were to look over.

There was no logical resolution to this. Either he was going to play into this, or he wasn’t, so he had to try to imagine the likely outcomes of each potential choice. If he just ignored Malik and stopped talking to him altogether, he might look like a coward, but at least he could just forget any of this had ever happened.

He felt his jaw clench at the thought of that, something prideful and tenuous rising up inside his body. Maybe that wasn’t an option, after all. Not with how absolutely sick that made him feel.

He had to remember who he was dealing with. Malik Ishtar. There was no way this was innocent. The guy was messing with him, trying to provoke a reaction for his own amusement, and probably laughing back in his hospital bed at the fact he had actually gotten him to believe that anything about that little press of lips wasn’t a trick.

This wasn’t over. He had every intention, suddenly, of making Malik own up to what he was doing.

Filled with a newfound confidence, he slowly pulled the phone back out of his pocket, seeing no further messages there so deciding to send a couple of his own, keeping the phone angled away from Ryou deliberately like a kid who was watching YouTube videos when it was past his bedtime.

_Sounds like you’re underestimating me._

_Two can play at this game._

It took Malik a minute to reply, but when he did, Bakura felt his heart rate pick back up.

_are you implying you want to play with me?_

The innuendo wasn’t lost on him, and he found himself typing back quickly. It was kind of surreal, and he couldn’t help but realize that they’d had a similar combative conversation over text the week before about Duel Monsters, and now, well… Duel Monsters was the last thing on his mind.

Bakura imagined Malik for a moment as he’d seen him, just six days ago, wearing that short robe and giving him that self-assured little smile, and felt his blood heat like never before.

_You started it._

_If you expect me to submit to you, you’re dreaming._

It was a bold choice of words, and he knew it. There was no way Malik wouldn’t catch his drift. Still, Bakura felt like it had to be addressed before this teasing shit went any further. He didn’t know where Malik stood on that kind of thing, or if he even had any experience. Why was it taking Malik so long to respond?

When they arrived back to the complex, Bakura made his way up the dark wood steps and quickly attempted to move down the hall and into his bedroom before he could be stopped, freezing mid-stride when Ryou’s gentle voice met his ears.

“What were you doing at Malik’s place?”

The question, expected as it was, made a chill go down Bakura’s spine. He turned slowly, looking over into the piqued expression which, for all purposes, probably should have held some suspicion. Instead, though, it was something worse- Ryou’s eyes were big, and sad-looking, as though he was disappointed, or even afraid to hear the answer.

Bakura shook his head, aware of how it probably seemed and tripping over his words.

“That’s not- I didn’t do it,” he told him honestly. “I went over there to duel him and found him laying there, so I called 119.”

It was probably the only time in recent history that Bakura could recall justifying something he had done to someone, and the fact that he felt so compelled to was a little uncomfortable for him. True, Ryou was his ride, and his caregiver, practically, given that he fed and clothed him, but Bakura didn’t exactly fear losing those things, not because he didn’t need them, but because he knew Ryou better than anyone. His past host was kind to a fault, and Bakura’s mere continued existence was a testament to that. No, Bakura was sure he was experiencing this kind of guilt for different reasons, and they were ones he didn’t entirely want to explore at the moment.

His emotions were already enough of a mess.

Thankfully, Ryou’s sad expression relented and he smiled at Bakura, eyes closing sweetly.

“I’m glad you were there to help him,” he told him, and Bakura could hear the suspicion leave his voice. “It sounds like you two are becoming good friends.”

Bakura wasn’t sure whether he was imagining a hint of sadness in Ryou’s voice, but he was smiling, and did look relieved.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bakura muttered in reply and then turned around, escaping off to his bedroom and shutting the door.

He sat down on the unmade bed and took a few minutes just to compose himself. As it was, the day could definitely have ended worse. Malik was alive, and Bakura wasn’t having to take the blame for anything. Still, he was starting to feel like his ego might have taken the brunt of the injury. His existence had always been consumed with a clear goal, and now that that wasn’t the case, maybe it just made it easier for these uncomfortable physical sensations to rise up and make themselves known.

His entire body felt tense as he flopped back against the headboard, mind rewinding past the events of the day, back to the night at the bowling alley. He recalled the way Malik had looked, then, under the colorful lights in the dimness of the dining area, swirling ice cubes around in a plastic cup. His eyes had been purple and clear, and his lips had looked shiny, too, and obviously smooth. Bakura remembered the curvature of his body when he had stood- Malik had a small waist, and hips that curved outwards pleasantly, as well as long and tapered legs that met the base of his spine in an ample backside.

Bakura closed his eyes, slowly skimming a hand down over the covers. He felt like he wasn’t in control of himself as he reached down and unbuckled his pants, zipping his fly down, burying his hand down past his underwear and grasping at himself. He could feel his length pulse against his palm, twitching within its confines. It wasn’t like he never did this, though he had to make a concerted effort to be quiet with Ryou around.

As he exhaled, he felt the telltale buzz of the phone in his pants pocket. Ryou was home, so there was probably only one person who would be messaging him. Breathing heavily, he used his free hand to pull the phone out, swiping into the text thread and seeing the last thing he had expected.

It was a photo of Malik in his hospital bed. The first thing that struck Bakura were those eyes, large and round at the edges, but angular enough to be suggestive under his thick and dark eyelashes. His shiny lips were pursed, and he held a hand out slightly at the edge of his face. The implication struck Bakura and he gripped himself tighter, reading over the message that popped up underneath the image of the blonde blowing him a kiss.

_since you liked that last one so much, here’s another one ;)_

Shoulders tensing, Bakura promptly got up off the bed and locked his bedroom door.

\--


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone, for your patience. This is a rough time for many of us right now, and my thoughts are with all of you. I hope this new chapter can help make today a little brighter for some of you.
> 
> My Discord is charmzz#7173, if anyone would like to reach out :)

\--

About a week had passed since the hospital incident, and Bakura was starting to find himself waking up earlier than usual.

At first, it was incredibly annoying. As a reincarnated spirit of darkness, Bakura preferred to sleep in until late afternoon, get up, eat a late lunch, and then handle whatever errands Ryou had left for him before he flopped down with his phone or Switch and gamed the rest of the night away. There was something in this repetitive cycle of eat, play, sleep, that was intensely relaxing. It was a mindless routine he had developed unintentionally, one that made him feel like he was on his own time, and allowed him to enjoy the dark of the night for hours upon hours after his housemate had tucked himself into bed.

That day, when Bakura pulled his phone off the charger and found it to be 10:03AM, he couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable.

After rolling around restlessly for a while longer, he eventually got himself out of bed and stripped out of his clothes before heading slowly into the bathroom, stepping into the shower and turning the water on. The initial cold burst of liquid in his eyes had him rubbing his face with a grumble, mind already drifting back into corners he had been trying to avoid.

Malik.

He and Malik had been texting daily throughout the past week. It wasn’t something he had planned on, of course. It had just sort of happened. Malik seemed interested, for whatever reason, in updating him on his healing progress as the days went by. He had been asked to stay in the hospital for three full nights, and had relayed to Bakura the various things he found entertainment in throughout the course of those days, probably because he was bored as shit in his hospital bed and had nothing better to do. This often came in the form of selfies, including one photo of himself in bed with a confused-looking Rishid arranging his pillows behind him, and another of Malik flashing a peace sign with both siblings standing at his sides. Bakura normally sent back sassy messages in reply, since he didn’t exactly have much exciting going on in his life to show him in return.

The tension between them hadn’t really faded, either; Bakura was beginning to wonder whether the bedroom eyes Malik always seemed to have in every photo he sent were just a figment of his imagination, or whether they were intentional.

He scrubbed shampoo into his long hair as he pondered it, frowning. Who was he kidding? This was Malik. He knew what he was doing.

Thoughts of Malik were beginning to get in the way of Bakura’s usual daily ritual of doing nothing. Images of the blonde’s smiling face bothered him in the middle of his gaming, causing him to lose lives and repeat levels more frequently than he normally did. They put a weird taste in his mouth halfway through meals, and sent random little shivers up his spine while he watched TV or sorted through the mail. No matter what he attempted to do to get the bastard out of his head, these thoughts and images, much like Malik himself, tended to rise up out of nowhere as though they existed simply to throw his day off-kilter.

That particular morning, when he stepped out into the hallway and headed towards the kitchen, Bakura found himself shivering in his grey t-shirt and jeans, deciding to ignore it and walking into the kitchen.

The floorboards creaked audibly behind him. Surprised, he opened the refrigerator and dug out a couple of eggs from the cardboard container in the door, turning to peer back over his shoulder.

Ryou stood there, looking at him with a big chocolate gaze.

“You’re already awake?” he asked softly, and Bakura took a moment to observe his clothes. His roommate was wearing a pair of little pink ankle boots which Bakura had never seen before, paired with some light cream-colored pants and a baby blue sweater with a light grey button-up shirt underneath. The collar of this shirt had a strip of lace rimming the bottom, which peeked out from beneath the soft locks of white hair that fell around Ryou’s throat. Bakura stood up straighter and shut the refrigerator door, sending him a perplexed look.

“What are you all dressed up for?” he asked and turned to flip the switch for the largest burner on the stove, setting one of the frying pans atop it. Ryou seemed immediately bashful and shrunk into himself slightly, averting his eyes.

“I’m just…going out.”

Feeling his guts twist up uncomfortably, Bakura cracked the eggs into the pan.

“With who?”

Ryou’s red-faced expression convinced him that his suspicions were correct.

“…I’m meeting Jonouchi for bubble tea,” his roommate eventually replied, voice a little weak with obvious embarrassment, even as he smiled. “There’s a new Chinese-style dessert place in City Square. They have egg waffles, and thousand-layer cream cake.”

Bakura began to feel his stomach churn, but he flipped his eggs over with a silicone spatula and just grunted in response.

“Have fun.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring you something home in a couple hours,” Ryou promised, sounding a bit more relaxed as he picked up his shoulder bag and took his keys from the hook next to the front door. There was a visible bounce in his step as he smiled back at him, waving to Bakura with a small white hand. “Don’t forget the mail, please!”

The door closed, and the silence of the house suddenly felt completely deafening. Bakura grit his teeth, looking down, wondering why this bothered him so much, why he gave a shit that Ryou was out getting frisky with Yugi’s dumbass friend. He flipped his eggs a final time, added a dash of salt, and sat down on the sofa with a pair of chopsticks, mind wandering. Maybe he just didn’t get up early enough to know how often Ryou had been doing things like this…

A noise caught his attention, and he perked up and looked down the hall, setting his plate down slowly on the ottoman. Without thinking, he went back into his bedroom and picked up the phone that was still sitting on the end table, swiping into the text thread when he saw the name on the screen.

**Malibu Barbie**

_had breakfast with sister~_

There was another picture of Malik, this time one of him sitting at what looked like a table outdoors on a patio somewhere, with a plate of what seemed to be fried potatoes and chopped melon. Isis was in the frame at the edge, reading something on her phone with a glistening gold hoop in her ear. Bakura didn’t really observe her further, instead looking at those knowing lavender eyes, and then up to the small white bandage that peeked out from under his ash-blonde bangs.

_I’m not your Instagram. Post this somewhere else._

he texted back. Quickly, he got a couple of replies.

_someone’s grumpy_

_i was gonna ask if you wanted to come over later. i’m a good cook_

Genuinely surprised, Bakura eased himself back down onto his unmade bed, feeling a slow flush of warmth creep up the base of his neck and to his ears.

Well, if Ryou could go out and see people…

_I’m not eating rabbit food._

Smooth. He almost wanted to slap himself in the face.

_aww_

_it’s okay Bakura. i know you’re scared to duel me_

_i promise not to make fun of you when you lose_

_;)_

Something in the back of Bakura’s mind relaxed, relieved to have a potential excuse for showing up if he did decide to swallow his pride and go. It had actually been a great surprise to him, the fact that Malik hadn’t brought up their…mouth-to-face contact ever since the day of the accident. A great surprise, and a great relief, of course. Bakura was beginning to wonder whether it had been accidental, and Malik was just playing it up at first so he didn’t have to admit to his mistake.

Those eyes, though, in all of his photos… They were up to something, and Bakura’s heart leapt whenever he let himself imagine what that ‘something’ could be.

_I don’t plan on losing._

_What time should I come end you?_

_hmm six??_

_sister will probably be out._

As awkward as it was potentially going to be to hang out around the Ishtars, Bakura wasn’t particularly intimidated. The servant-brother was pretty nonthreatening, despite his size and stature. Exhaling slowly, he got back up and made his way into the living room, sitting down on the sofa there and turning on the television before sending one final message.

_If you’re menstruating all over the place again, I’m leaving you there this time._

\--

Upon arriving this time around, Bakura was able to see a sleek black car parked in the carport. Fucking rich people.

He slipped out of the Uber and approached the front of the house. Seeing Malik made him somewhat apprehensive, but not because he feared him- rather, he feared what he might do in his presence, or how he might react if the guy pushed his buttons just a little too hard. Either way, he had a feeling that something might get resolved if he forced himself to be around him, and that wasn’t an excuse in the slightest.

Also, hey, free food, even though he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to be given the steak he had been craving for a couple of weeks now.

Stopping at the front step, he knocked, and the door opened within a few long moments, leaving Bakura looking eye-to-eye with the person he had come to see. There were a couple seconds of stiffness, which was probably to be expected given the situation, but then the Egyptian took a step to the side and held the door open for him.

“You’re early,” Malik finally commented, shutting the door behind him once he had stepped in. Bakura huffed, feeling the warmth of the house immediately settle on his chilled neck and collarbone. September was already way too cold for his tastes. Instantly, he caught a whiff of that floral balm again, and his chest felt tight as he looked over in the blonde’s general direction with a half-shrug.

“You promised food.”

Malik smiled, and Bakura found himself irritated yet again by the inch or so difference in their heights.

“Doesn’t Ryou feed you?” he teased, beckoning with a hand and turning around. “I was going to start on grilled cheeses. You can tell me what you want on yours.”

That actually didn’t sound too repulsive. Any fear of their reunion being painfully and unabashedly awkward was melting away, somehow. Against his better judgment, he followed Malik into the kitchen area that he recalled from the week prior, seeing the loaf of bread and package of cheese already sitting on the countertop near the sink. It looked like some kind of whole wheat, he noticed, eyeing the color from over the bar.

“That looks healthy,” he snorted. Malik blinked, looking down at the loaf and back up as he lathered his hands with soap.

“Do you just eat white bread all the time?”

Bakura sniffed indignantly. “It’s what Ryou buys.”

“You’ll like this kind,” the blonde replied simply and dried his hands on a towel, turning to meet his eyes. “The dark stuff tastes better.”

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but something in Malik’s sideways gaze gave him pause, and he suddenly couldn’t decide whether he was missing an innuendo somewhere, or if he was just thinking way too hard and it was all in his imagination.

Those fucking eyes drove him up the wall.

“Take a picture,” he eventually muttered and pulled up one of the barstools, plopping himself down on it and leaning lazily onto the marble countertop to watch Malik at the sink from the other side. “It’ll last longer.”

Malik’s slight smile faded and he was silent, seeming to take a moment to understand that particular turn of phrase before clicking his tongue and picking up a bread knife.

“What a polite guest. I should have you make your own.”

“Master Malik?”

The voice startled Bakura out of his slouch. Turning, he saw a tall figure standing in the hallway that led out to what was probably the sitting room, and observed the fairly casual grey sweater and black pants he wore, and the glossy black ponytail that was pulled over one broad shoulder.

“Oh, Rishid,” Malik greeted, and Bakura noticed for the first time how he was also dressed in something similar- a soft-looking lavender sweater with ribbed sleeves. No wonder his eyes were standing out.

Rishid locked eyes with Bakura, and the blonde just smiled and waved a hand at him as if to assuage his concerns.

“Don’t worry, we’re just going to eat and play some cards. Do you want hummus on yours?”

Seemingly uncertain, the taller male glanced over to Malik and nodded with obvious hesitance, extending a large hand in his direction.

“Shall I…?”

Bakura had to press his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Oh no, no need,” Malik reassured, opening the refrigerator and taking out a sealed bottle of cold black tea, handing it over to his older sibling. “I’ll bring it up to you once it’s done, okay?”

A few moments passed before Rishid contented himself with a nod and then turned around, making his way back up the stairs. The sound of a door shutting echoed down the staircase, and Bakura let go of the amused breath he had been holding, snickering.

“He’s whipped.”

“He was, unfortunately,” Malik replied, laying one sandwich into a pan on the stove. Bakura immediately remembered the unsavory details he had been privy to that one night about the Ishtar family servant, and actually felt just a little bad about making such a coarse remark. Thankfully, though, Malik seemed mostly unfazed as he sliced into the dark loaf again.

“He works himself too hard. He’s been upstairs sorting through inventory all day.”

Bakura propped his chin up on his folded hands and watched the other curiously.

“Inventory?”

“Old scrolls and stuff,” Malik yawned out. “A site in Aswan uncovered some things, so we’re working them up for an exhibit right now.”

Bakura had never made the connection that the whole family was probably involved in this Ancient Egyptian relic business, but he supposed it made some sense. When their eyes met again, Bakura felt a chill go up his spine, suddenly recalling the reason he had felt so weird when Malik had opened the door. That was right. That kiss… He swallowed, feeling a dryness at the back of his tongue when Malik tilted his head at him slightly, lids falling to rim his glossy eyes with thick and dark lashes.

“Take a picture,” Malik suggested, and Bakura huffed and looked away. Bastard.

Once he was finished cooking and delivering one serving to the help upstairs, Malik lifted both plates of food in his tan hands and walked over to the dining room table. “Do you want something to drink?”

Bakura walked over and helped himself to the seat nearest to his plate. “Sure. Got any raw goat’s blood?”

Malik’s disgusted expression was more than enough to make Bakura chuckle.

“I never should have told you I don’t eat meat,” he sighed, returning with two plastic bottles of something pink and sitting across from him. Upon observation of the label, Bakura was able to tell it was strawberry milk.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he replied, opening the bottle. His smile started to fall, though, as he eyed the label. This was Ryou’s favorite brand. His roommate considered it a ‘treat’ and didn’t buy it very often, but when he did, he sometimes came home with one of the variety packs that contained two strawberry milks, two chocolate milks, and two matcha milks. Bakura didn’t really feel the impending awkwardness of the silence between them until he hazarded a glance across the table, watching Malik lick some mustard from his thumb.

“What do you look so mopey about?” he hummed at him, and Bakura grit his teeth, looking away for a moment, the left side of his chest giving him a strange but sudden ache.

“I’m not ‘mopey’.”

The blonde eyed him. Bakura noticed some red onion peeking out between his bread slices, and reached down to pick up his own, taking an unsure bite and finding the cheese to be pleasantly rich and sharp.

“’s none o’ your business. Didn’t sleep much,” he finally said around his mouthful. Malik cast his gaze sideways, as though thoughtful, and Bakura couldn’t help but sort of gaze into those large, shiny lavender eyes.

“Nightmares?” he guessed, and Bakura gulped down his mouthful of bread. No way in hell was he ever telling Malik about those. He shook his head.

“Ryou woke me up at the crack of dawn. He’s been fucking around with Jonouchi on his days off.”

Malik’s immediate grin was infuriating, and Bakura glared back at him.

“What?!”

“It’s cute,” Malik replied, and Bakura noticed how white his teeth were behind his glossy lips. “I never would have thought those two would get together.”

“You’re telling me,” Bakura huffed and looked down, frowning at his lap. “Fucking loser idiot. Probably tries to mess around with him every five seconds.”

“Well, you’re here messing around with me,” the blonde pointed out, and when their eyes met again, something in the mood had shifted, and the quiet was both less tense and more tense at the same time. “What will he think about us? Thick as thieves?”

The joke wasn’t lost on him, and Bakura couldn’t help but lean across the table a little further, feeling like his only option was to bring the joke to the next level.

“I think you’ll find I’m the thick one.”

Malik’s wide-eyed stare quickly morphed into something lidded and knowing, and the remaining few minutes of eating occurred in relative silence, with each of them checking their phones between periodic glances back and forth. Bakura almost wondered whether he was deluding himself into somehow NOT feeling awkward. Instead, his stomach jumped every time their glances met, and the hair on his arms stood up straight, and his toes curled in his shoes. Even from across the table, he could smell the faint scent of what he now knew to be Malik’s hair- not the lotus balm, but something slightly more fresh and powdery, probably his shampoo. He had first encountered that scent while trying to staunch the bleeding with towels pressed against his skull, when his palms and fingertips had discovered just how soft and light those smooth, ashy locks actually were.

“Well, you came to duel, didn’t you?” Malik eventually broke the silence, standing and reaching to pick up their emptied plates. Bakura just watched him as he made his way over to the kitchen and bent down, loading them into the dishwasher. The arch of his waist caught his attention for a bit too long, and Bakura swallowed and stood up quickly when he realized he was being waited on for a response.

“Of course. You’re still buying me a steak when I beat you.”

“If you beat me,” the Egyptian corrected, beckoning with a finger and turning to head into the hallway. Bakura followed him up the stairs, able to hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

When they entered Malik’s bedroom, he again noticed those sky-blue painted walls, the general clean atmosphere, and the laptop that sat on the desk at the side. Like he had that one night, the blonde dug his deck out of one of the bags that sat on the floor in the corner and then plopped down cross-legged on the carpet, shuffling his cards with the dexterity of a man who had done such a thing a thousand times. Bakura found himself grinning as he sat across from him, fully determined to prove something, prove himself. He wasn’t planning on submitting, not in any way.

“Ladies first,” he told Malik cockily, drawing himself a hand. Malik rolled his eyes, but set a card facedown anyways.

Bakura had no desire to admit it, but he had gone through his deck a couple of times before this and revamped some of his central strategies. Ryou had his own deck, not that he had ever really played much, but he also brought home occasional promo packs of Duel Monsters cards from the game shop. While a lot of the hype for the game had died down in the past few years, to be replaced with newer and fresher card and RPG-type games, Duel Monsters still had a large and dedicated pool of players, and new cards continued to be produced and released. As such, when Ryou came home with booster packs or new releases after a shift, Bakura couldn’t help but pick through them with some interest.

The first twenty minutes or so seemed like a fairly even match, with each of them unleashing minor trap and spell cards that allowed for some relatively standard early-game back-and-forth. Malik continued to lay down face-down cards, the sight of which was starting to worry Bakura, but he did his best to keep his cool. When he drew his next card, he had to steel himself not to give himself away, and set it face down, ending his turn.

Malik grinned, and when he went to flip over his first magic card, Bakura deftly turned his own over, lips twisting into a smirk.

“Heavy Storm,” he gloated, gesturing at Malik’s line-up of undoubtedly hazardous traps. “Graveyard all those.”

Malik balked. “Mother-fucker.”

Bakura laughed, sufficiently pleased with himself not to censor the first rebut that came to mind.

“Father-killer.”

At that, Malik actually looked kind of startled, and Bakura almost felt guilty about it when he saw the blonde smile at him and shake his head.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” he asked, collecting his swath of cards and depositing them neatly into his card graveyard, ending his turn. “How does Ryou stand you?”

Bakura snorted. “I’ll have you know I can be very kind.”

“Kind of a pain in the ass.”

That tension was back in the air, strung between them like a piece of pulled twine. Bakura again fell back on his natural instinct for confrontation, leaning over the expanse of cards with narrowed, deep-brown eyes.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, looking deep into the light gaze like a desert dweller looking into a lake. “The kind of pain in your ass I could be.”

It might have sounded a little too much like a threat, what with the unplanned raspiness of his whisper, but Malik simply gazed right back at him, leaning against the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap.

“Oh, really?” he practically purred, and Bakura watched the tip of his very pink tongue slide briefly across Malik’s top row of teeth. “Then make a move, already, or I’m declaring this a victory for me.”

Bakura swallowed. His body seemed to move on its own as he leaned forwards, placing the palms of his hands onto the carpet. “What kind of move would you like me to make, precisely?”

“I don’t know,” Malik cooed back at him, the sweet chord of his tone sending fleeting tingles up and down the back of Bakura’s neck. “Not that I’m impatient. You can…take it slow with me, if you really want to.”

In the brief moment of silence that followed, something between them snapped. Bakura climbed forward fast on his hands and knees, uncaringly shifting some of their cards to the side, and he leaned in close before he could help himself, pressing his mouth haphazardly against those tempting brown lips.

It probably wasn’t the most suave kiss, not that Bakura had any prior experience to compare to, but thankfully, the blonde didn’t seem to mind. Malik’s lips were soft, as expected, and unbelievably smooth against his as he pressed his tongue against the seam of his mouth, hands unsurely coming up to wrap around the firm back and clutch against his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

He was promptly rewarded with a forceful shove backwards, one that forcibly detached their lock of lips, and Bakura blinked dazedly down at Malik, feeling a slow panic rising up inside of him until he registered the pained expression he saw looking back.

“…Sorry,” Malik actually apologized, huffing out a hot breath of a laugh. “You can touch anywhere else.”

Right, the back. Glad to see they were at least on the same page with the sexual tension thing, Bakura leaned back in and instead reached down to grip Malik by the hips, nudging their noses together before resuming the soft kiss.

The first thing Bakura’s conscious mind could process was the heat that he could feel in his palms, radiating through his skin, feeling something like hot water on a cold night. Relaxed and eager all at once, he once again tried with his tongue, dipping it softly between Malik’s lips, feeling the tip of his rival’s tongue brush against his. It was like a jolt of electricity, and all hesitance was suddenly gone from his blood, uncertainty replaced with a pulsing, insistent need. Bakura tightened his hands on those hipbones, pressing his thumbs against the crests of his pelvis, and Malik groaned softly into his mouth, lighting a sudden and aching fire between Bakura’s legs.

One of his hands crept up and threaded its way into the blonde hair, pulling his head to the side. Bakura had no idea where these instincts were coming from, but he allowed his more primal drives to lead him as he ran his tongue along the roof of Malik’s mouth, other hand flattening against Malik’s backside and swiftly pressing against it. Without question, seemingly, his partner scooted up closer to him, beginning to close the distance. Bakura felt the distinct sensation of a heel pressing against the back of his leg, urging him closer, closer, and inhaled deeply as his senses began to take over.

Any semblance of starting off slow completely faded as he pulled Malik’s head to the side, pressing his mouth into the crook of his neck, vaguely aware that Malik wasn’t wearing his gold. Bakura pressed his lips there, kissing and sucking a bite into that delicious bronze skin, and Malik whined- _whined_ \- in a keening sound like Bakura had never heard. His blood ran hot as he lapped his way around what he could reach of his collarbone, scraping his teeth and sliding his tongue wherever he could reach. The hand on Malik’s hip skimmed upwards, dipping itself beneath his soft sweatshirt and skimming across his chest. A hard nub caught between his fingers, and he squeezed against Malik’s chest, feeling the hot breath of surprise puff against his forehead.

Malik sighed, then, sounding breathless, like he was overwhelmed. Bakura’s pride roared inside him and he chuckled darkly, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes.

For whatever reason, when their gazes met this time, the confusion that had settled in the back of Bakura’s mind came back full-force. He slowly sat back onto his knees, blinking, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. Oh. Right. What the fuck was he getting himself into? Well, other than Malik, hopefully…

Sitting up on his elbows, Malik gazed back at him with a similarly surprised expression.

“That was bold of you,” the blonde eventually stated, half-smiling at Bakura, who narrowed his eyes in return.

“You started it,” he stated, confused but not planning on taking responsibility for some kind of misunderstanding. “You and that fucking kiss.”

“Mm, true,” Malik murmured and shifted up further onto his backside. There were a few more moments of silence before the blonde made a move, leaning forward and draping his warm arms around Bakura’s pale neck. Bakura looked down, meeting his eyes as bravely as he could while Malik spoke.

“So, what do you want out of this?”

Bakura had to think about it. Something ached deep inside him, and then there was an immediate tightening of his chest around that soft spot, closing off his breath and making his whole body go stiff before he could finally manage a response.

“…Whatever. Friends with benefits?”

It was the first thing he could think that came to mind. Malik’s flirting, well…it was forward, and decidedly sensual, and Bakura couldn’t imagine he was envisioning hot chocolate and sweet kisses on the cheek. It was also obvious that Malik was only in Japan on a temporary basis, and would probably up and leave within the next week or two, only to never interact with Bakura again. A casual arrangement was the only thing that made sense.

Malik licked his lips and removed his arms, quirking his lips just a little more. “Sounds like a plan.”

Good. Some kind of load seemed to fall from Bakura’s shoulders as they looked at one another. He knew what this was now, and what to expect, at least, sort of. Before he could anticipate it, though, Malik was kissing him again, with warm lips ghosting across his bottom lip and a single hand on his chest.

Bakura leaned forward, realizing that Malik had closed his eyes, and looking at the dark and smooth kohl that swept over his top lids up-close. Surprised by the display of trust, he sighed softly and released some more of the tension in his body, licking into the other’s mouth, feeling the space between his legs pulse. He supposed that, in his altogether meaningless and unwanted existence, at least this would be a good distraction, something that felt good and exciting, and gave him a reason to get up in the morning.

Smoothly, Bakura pressed his lips against Malik’s with abandon, aware of the bubbling eagerness that presented itself in the base of his gut, something that was light and fluttery, like the tingle of a sparkling soda pop. He ignored that very strange feeling and slipped his hand back into the blonde hair, tilting Malik’s head to the side and feeling Malik lean up into him, sharing his own tongue with slow presses and hot breaths.

Whatever this was, he was going to have fun with it.

\--


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone. I sincerely hope all of you are healthy, happy, and doing well.

\--

It wasn’t entirely clear what had passed through Bakura’s mind in those few moments of silence, but it hadn’t taken long for their lips to meet again.

While they kissed, something serene and warm seemed to settle over Bakura. Their mouths pressed together softly, first, and then shifted, fitting together more smoothly with each gentle push. Malik turned his head and his tongue skimmed across Bakura’s lower lip, feeling like hot water on a cold night. It moved from the corner of his lips towards his temple, and then down to the delicate skin beneath his ear, where Malik scraped his teeth, sucking a gentle bite into the pale flesh. Bakura’s natural competitiveness began to take over as he tightened a hand in his hair and jerked backwards slightly, finding himself slightly disoriented and wondering where else he could put his hands.

Malik must have been disappointed in his retreat, because he slowly opened his eyes with a look of slight discontentment, only then turning to glance towards the window, observing the falling twilight with obvious surprise.

“It’s getting dark early,” he mused, and Bakura grunted in realization, sitting back on his knees. Ryou would almost certainly have realized he was gone, by now.

“I’d better go,” he muttered, obviously reluctant even as he stood back up. Malik seemed similarly hesitant but pushed himself up onto his own feet as well, surveying the mess of cards at their feet.

“Oh. We never finished our duel.”

“Tch,” Bakura half-chuckled. “Were you wanting to finish?”

“Hm, well…” Malik actually yawned mid-sentence, and Bakura began to see a hint of tiredness under the kohl-rimmed lids. “I was hoping at least _one_ of us could finish."

The meaning of that wasn’t lost on Bakura, who looked right into those knowing eyes with the sudden and intense urge to suck all the breath right out of his rival’s mouth.

“Patience, Ishtar,” he goaded. “You’ll find I’m quite fond of biding my time.”

“How does that normally work out for you?” the blonde replied smoothly, grinning when Bakura sent him a glare. The Egyptian had no idea how lucky he was that he was so pretty.

“Fuck you.”

“Mmn, no, you’re right. We should wait on that,” Malik agreed, cleaning up his and Bakura’s cards and handing his deck over to him. Their fingertips brushed, but he left the contact at that and instead moved over to the desk at the corner of the room, reaching into one of the two drawers there. Bakura just watched silently, tucking his deck into one of his pockets when Malik slowly extracted something from the back of the drawer.

Before Bakura could really even register what he was looking at, Malik clicked the trigger on the lighter. A blue flame burst cleanly from the tip, and the pale man felt his heart seize immediately, face going porcelain-white. He gasped involuntarily, and Malik glanced over at him with surprise as he gently lit the wick of the small blue candle that sat on the end of the desk closest to the bedside.

“You okay?” the blonde asked, and Bakura felt that same, familiar pain, the one that shot through the center of his chest and down his left arm, and swallowed to get rid of the dryness that had settled at the back of his tongue, wondering what in God's name was the matter with him.

“Candles, really?” he settled himself for huffing, pulling his shirt down a bit and averting his eyes. “Didn’t know you needed a nightlight.”

When he hazarded a glance back, Malik was, surprisingly, not looking his way.

“I don’t like the dark,” the Egyptian eventually replied, and gone from his voice was the playfulness that had been there just a minute ago, replaced with something light and casual, but impersonal, like he was commenting on the weather. The awkwardness he had anticipated began to settle in, and Bakura turned away, shunting his hands into his pockets, unsure why his shoulder and arm still ached so much.

“Don’t let it melt your makeup off,” he sighed and slowly walked out of the room, heading down the steps and out the front door, into the evening air.

Surprisingly, once he arrived back to the apartment and opened the front door, he wasn’t greeted by the smell of teriyaki, or the sight of his roommate seated on the sofa in front of the television. Bakura noticed that Ryou’s set of house keys were indeed hanging on the hook next to the front door with the tiny rubber owl keychain attached, and placed his own set of keys beside them, locking the deadbolt and kicking his shoes off before heading into the hall.

Ryou’s bedroom door was shut, so he entered his own room across from it and flopped down onto the bed, reaching down to slowly pull his shirt up towards his collarbones. The thrumming pain from earlier gave him momentary pause, and he grimaced before pulling his shirt up a little further, using his eyes to trace over the circle of rough and jagged scars that made its way around his abdomen and pectorals.

As he looked, observing the way his white flesh crimped in sharp corners around his ribs, something inside of Bakura ached deep. He pulled his shirt up further under his chin, shifting his left shoulder out of the sleeve. The scar on his arm was different- deep, yes, and that kind of purply-grey that characterized the scars on his chest, but it was sharper in shape, the definite result of a blade driven in and almost through. The sight of it actually made Bakura’s head swim, and he felt like he could once again smell the sea air over the pier, and see that watching lavender gaze…

The scars were undeniably old, so why were they hurting?

Ignoring the painful twinges the best he could, Bakura rolled over onto his front and grabbed for his phone, clicking into one of his game apps and pressing the bottom of his face against one of his pillows, still able to feel the tingle of how Malik’s warm lips had pressed up flush to his.

A few hours passed, and Bakura began to get a bit of a headache. A quick glance at the clock told him it was almost midnight, so he closed out of his app and dropped his phone haphazardly onto the mattress, stretching his pale arms up above his head. He hadn’t eaten since visiting Malik earlier, he realized, so, deciding it was a good time for a mini meal before he drifted off, he got up onto his bare feet and padded out into the hallway,

When he opened the door, the gentle sound of crinkling plastic caught his attention. Caught off-guard, Bakura slowly made his way down the hall and around the corner, peering into the lit kitchen. He merely watched, keeping silent as he observed the way the small white figure dug around in the bottom door of the refrigerator, knees bent and arms visibly trembling.

Bakura must have inhaled too loudly because Ryou froze, slowly rising back up to a standing position and peering back at him over his nightgown-clad shoulder.

The large brown eyes glistened with unmistakable tears. Too thrown-off to speak for a moment, Bakura merely took a hesitant step forward, watching Ryou close in on himself, then turn slowly to face him, forcing a smile that was obvious in its phoniness.

“Ba- I’m fine,” he stumbled over his words, voice a quiet and pinched thing that made Bakura wonder whether he was keeping it low to avoid it from cracking. “I just had a bad dream.”

Bakura frowned, not sure whether to buy that. Objectively speaking, he probably knew Ryou better than anybody else in the world. One of Ryou’s most paradoxical qualities was his ability to withstand adversity and fear, despite his capacity for deep emotional vulnerability. To that day, he had only seen Ryou full-on cry a handful of times. Something twisted inside his belly, echoing the general discomfort he had felt there earlier that day.

“Bad dream, huh?”

Ryou nodded, one hand slowly reaching for the jar of chocolate spread that already sat on the counter. “I thought I would get something to settle my stomach.”

Without warning, Bakura felt an immediate need for control surge up inside him, and he walked over and took the jar out of Ryou’s grasp, opening the silverware drawer for a butter knife.

“Go sit down. I’ll make you a sandwich,” he decided, voice slightly rough from the slight grogginess that was still lingering in his lungs. He could feel Ryou’s hesitance, but after a couple of seconds, his light made his way over to the raised counter area across from the kitchen, sitting at one of the stools there with what looked like an unsure expression on his face.

The white bread reminded Bakura of an earlier conversation from the same day as he slathered chocolate on one side, then opened the fridge. He found what was left of a carton of strawberries and cut a few of them into thin slices, placing them onto the spread and then slicing the finished sandwich into quarters before handing Ryou his plate.

“Thanks.”

Ryou’s voice was still soft, quieter than normal. Sniffing, Bakura walked over to the second stool and plopped down with his own plate, taking a bite of his own unsliced sandwich.

“Midnight snack,” he eventually offered, mouth full. He could see Ryou smile at him, this one slightly more genuine, though there was still something stark and pinched in his expression that Bakura could discern with just a momentary glance.

There was just silence between them for a few moments, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and the infrequent slide of plates or elbows against the edge of the countertop. Bakura was normally fairly content to sit in silence while eating, but as he recalled the events of the day that had led up to the current situation, he couldn’t help but feel his curiosity start to burgeon, prompting him to speak.

“How was your date?”

Ryou looked at him like a frightened bunny, and then flushed obviously across the crests of his white cheeks and pointed nose, focusing on his sandwich as though he was uncertain as to whether he should fess up entirely to the nature of what had been going on with that loser blonde. Bakura had no doubt, though, and it must have shown when Ryou met his eyes, because the other sagged forward slightly, clasping his hands together in his lap.

“It was fun,” he admitted softly, gentle features showing his shy joy. “The dessert place was really cute inside. We had ice cream, and- Oh, we went to the arcade after. He won me a really cute stuffed animal!”

While a kind and generally pleasant person, Ryou was not known in particular for the exuberance and unfettered excitement that shook in his voice now. Bakura found himself watching his light with a cold pit in the base of his stomach, followed by a sour twist of self-loathing at the realization of just how dreadful that infectious smile somehow made him feel.

“You’d better be making him wear a condom,” he groused around a mouthful of bread, taking at least some cursory amusement in the way Ryou’s entire visage lit up in various shades of pink.

“Bakura!” Ryou gasped at him, covering his mouth with both hands. “It- He- That was only our second date!”

“A lot of people hook up faster than that,” he snorted softly, observing the few crumbs on his plate that remained. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the shy amusement in Ryou’s visage, which slowly fell into something thoughtful, a soft yet deep expression that even Bakura couldn’t read at face value.

“…I’m sorry,” he eventually whispered, so quiet Bakura could barely make out what he had said. Wondering immediately if he’d been too pissy at a vulnerable moment, Bakura sniffed.

“What for? Just figured I’d warn you. An idiot like that probably doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants.”

Ryou exhaled a breath of laughter into the back of his hand. “Oh, no! Not about him,” he clarified, and Bakura turned to look at him in the face, regretting it immediately when he saw some of the earlier sadness pass back through the white features.

“…Just-” His roommate began, saying the words carefully, as though he feared they might shatter mid-syllable and cut his lips. “I’m sorry if you never wanted to be back here.”

Bakura’s guts began to tense, his mind reeling back through the circumstances of his…second conception, or third conception, or whatever it was at this point. He could remember quite vividly that moment of there being nothing, and then there being everything, the light that had exploded into his vision, how the scales had seemed to fall from his eyes. He had felt a body – his body- laying cold and naked on the living room floor as he heard Ryou’s frantic footsteps to find him clothes.

Ryou had clothed him, then, and made him some rice, and explained to him that he had, during the nights when he himself felt the most cold and lonesome, taken to making wishes like that one he had made in the sandbox at school as a child. He had wished for a friend, for someone who could know him and share a life with him, someone who could be closer to him than those within Yugi’s group had ended up being. Expectedly, upon seeing Ryou’s face, Bakura had begun to remember- Duelist Kingdom, Battle City, Diabound, Zorc, the warmth of Ryou’s body and the chill of the Millennium Ring. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to spend much time wondering about how exactly this had happened. It all felt like a cosmic mistake, and yet there was some painful relief in it, as though he was just now resurfacing above a ferocious and chilling tide for his first breath of air in years.

He looked at his roommate, who stared back at him with an expression that was probably similar to his own, and felt an intense and sudden urge to reach for him, to take him into his arms and tell him that it wasn’t fair to be so sad when Bakura had no way of honestly assuaging his concerns.

“What are you so worried about?” he settled on instead, trying to hide the slight shake in his voice as he glanced back at him. “It’s kind of a sweet gig, if you ask me. Free rent and good food just for taking out the trash and doing chores.”

Ryou watched him, and then sent him a half-smile that wasn’t at all comforting.

“You help me out a lot,” he reassured, setting down his final quarter of the sandwich as though he didn’t have the appetite to eat it all. Bakura could only look back at him, that one person in the universe that had practically wished him into the present not once, but twice now, and then he looked away, finding it to be too akin to gazing right into the sun.

Why Ryou had felt he needed him, especially nowadays, he didn’t think he would ever understand.

When he turned his head down in the process of collecting their plates, he heard Ryou gasp softly and shifted to meet his eyes.

“Are you bruised?” his roommate asked softly and tapped at the side of his own throat, and Bakura felt a sickening wave of embarrassment rise consume his innards.

His brain reeled as he brought the plates into the kitchen, trying to think up any excuse that could be considered believable. A small but spiky part of him reared itself behind his ribs, wanting to brag, wanting to admit what he’d done, but this was Ryou, for God’s sake-

“Bakura,” Ryou interrupted his train of thought, voice thankfully free of that damned sadness and replaced by shock and interest. “Did you go and visit Malik earlier?”

Shit. He supposed it made sense that Ryou had probably come home to him gone, and wondered where he went.

“We just dueled,” he lied obviously in a particularly clipped tone, unable to hide his hesitance to talk about it as he turned on the sink and began soaking a washcloth and wiping the plates.

The moment of knowing silence that followed was probably the most embarrassing few seconds of Bakura’s remembered life.

“You must be getting very close,” he then heard Ryou practically gush, the enthusiasm of which surprised him enough to get him to meet his roommate’s happy eyes and then immediately wish he hadn’t.

“We aren’t close,” he denied and huffed, unable to decide whether this bright and knowing smile was preferable to the humble sadness from a few minutes prior. “You’ve fallen for his nice act too easily. I merely wanted to pound him into submission.”

It was probably one of the worst things Bakura could have said to defend himself, and he realized it the moment Ryou’s eyebrows shot up so far that he couldn’t see them at all behind his messy hair.

“Th- With Duel Monsters,” he tried to clarify, but the damage was done. Ryou giggled, and Bakura could feel the tips of his ears turn red, the same way Ryou’s often did when he was embarrassed.

“It’s okay! You don’t have to be shy,” his past host told him ‘reassuringly’, and Bakura merely grunted and left the dishes to dry in the sink, having put his foot in his mouth enough than to try to refute whatever other illicit things Ryou probably thought he was up to with that brat.

“I’m not shy,” he muttered and just left the room, heading into his bedroom and closing the door before flopping back onto the bed, clutching a pillow against his face with what was most certainly, undeniably, inarguably, not shyness in the least.

\--

Again, morning came, and yet again, it wasn’t even noon, so Bakura automatically felt like he was awake way too early for his own good.

Despite their late-night interaction, Ryou had an early shift that morning, so Bakura wasn’t surprised to find he was already gone. The note on the refrigerator had a few items listed, so, after dressing and helping himself to some dry cereal and a snack cake from the cupboard, he completed them one by one, taking out the garbage, retrieving the mail, and mopping the kitchen. After accidentally sloshing some bucket water everywhere and cleaning that up with some towels, the grumbling male made his way into the living room and plopped down, glancing over at the note he had left on the ottoman.

_Groceries_

_Green onions_

_Nori_

_Dashi_

_Tuna (canned)_

_Eggs_

_White flour_

_White chocolate (baking bar)_

_Mochi ice cream (strawberry)_

Ryou’s penmanship was rounded and clear, as usual, and he always left a little ‘Thanks’ with a star or heart drawn at the end. Hoping Ryou would forget everything about the discussion they had had the night before by the time he got back, Bakura grabbed for his wallet and phone and left the house, heading across the street under the cloudy sky.

The grocery store he often went to was within walking distance of the apartment complex, so Bakura was able to go there whenever Ryou’s grocery list was composed of few enough things for him to be able to lug them home. He carried a couple of reusable bags over one shoulder as he entered, deciding to go for the cold things last and thereby heading straight for the center aisles. While he always did his best to stick to the list, mostly because it was Ryou’s money and he didn’t want to incur any distrust or, worse, disappointment with any choices he made, Ryou sometimes made a point to tell him he was allowed to get a few items especially for himself, if he really wanted them. Maybe this week he could get a couple of his favorite snacks…

Gaze downwards, he spotted a pair of familiar boots and moved to walk around the person when realization hit him, and he slowly raised his head to get a better look at the long ponytail that hung down the broad back.

Seriously?

Rishid seemed to sense him and turned, meeting his stare with obvious surprise.

Content not to start up an unneeded conversation, he settled on a curt nod and moved to circumvent the tall figure, freezing in place when the deep yet soft voice called to him.

“Bakura.”

Bakura turned slowly, trying to face the large figure without too much confusion showing on his face. He wasn’t exactly scared of this guy, not that he had interacted with him that much, but the fact that he was bothering to address him set him a little on edge.

When he caught his eye, Bakura couldn’t help but observe the scars on his face. They were similar to the ones on Malik’s back, and though he wasn’t familiar with the entirety of the Ishtar’s family story, he was sure it was connected in some way. For a moment, a few of the rightmost hieroglyphs stood out to him, and he silently sounded them out somehow in his head as ‘Ish-tar’ before realizing what he was doing and wincing, snapping back to reality and out of his confused reverie.

How was he able to read them, again…?

“Yeah? What?”

Rishid stared at him, and Bakura noticed for the first real time the vivid greenness of his eyes before the figure folded down into an abrupt and unexpected bow, head prostrated nobly as though it were the most natural gesture in the world.

“Thank you for helping Master Malik,” the taller male expressed, voice calm yet earnest. “His life was in your hands. Our family is indebted to you.”

It wasn’t every day Bakura had someone literally get down on their knees in front of him in the middle of a supermarket aisle. Normally, this probably would have made him feel pretty damn powerful, or at least given his ego a nice boost, but the reality of the situation just made him feel so damn awkward that he couldn’t help but sort of look towards the meat section, stomach tight. It wasn’t even like he’d done anything incredible. Obviously when you found someone bleeding to death you got help for them, right? Why did this family have to get under his skin so much?

“…Don’t mention it,” he eventually replied, unable to keep the flatness out of his tone. It felt like a relief when he heard Rishid shuffle back up to both feet, and he glanced back at him unsurely, seeing the relaxed smile on the man’s lips. “Common human decency, or whatever.”

Rishid’s expression changed slightly, and Bakura used the moment of silence to curiously survey the contents of his shopping basket, observing a couple of cans of chickpeas and a large carton of premade broth.

“We would be honored to have you over for dinner on a night when you are free.”

Gut twisting in several weird directions, he huffed out an awkward breath of a laugh. There was no way this guy knew what he and ‘the Master’ were up to…right? It was a weird request anyway. Bakura had literally just been there the day before, after all.

“You might want to ask permission before inviting me like that,” he said a bit rudely, not particularly good at small talk. “I mean, yeah, thanks, but me and Ryou normally do our own thing for dinner.”

Rishid didn’t seem offended, merely nodding and smiling his way again.

“Your other half would be welcome too, of course,” he clarified, adjusting the basket on his arm before bowing his head down just a bit in a parting gesture. “The offer is open. Malik-sama truly enjoys your company. Your presence appears to calm him down after he has one of his episodes.”

Bakura frowned slowly, rolling those words around in his head. The moment of silence seemed to give Rishid pause, and the taller man quickly bowed and then turned away.

“Have a pleasant day,” he stated, voice slightly more rushed as he stepped down the aisle and left Bakura’s line of sight.

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, now, the pale man picked up the items he needed throughout the store, moving mostly on autopilot. He loaded his basket fully and approached one of the self-checkout stations, scanning his items silently, running those words over in his mind.

He could feel his phone buzzing in his back pocket as he collected his bags, and reached into his back pocket for it, wondering whether Ryou maybe had something he had forgotten to add to the list initially.

**Malibu Barbie**

_look Bakura it’s you_

_Image loading…_

The photo that popped up showed a white plastic bat with red rhinestone eyes hanging from a ribbon on some kind of shelving unit. Upon further inspection, he could see that there was a ‘Happy Halloween’ display in the background, and in that moment realized why it was getting so godforsaken cold outside.

_Just ran into your man-slave._

Bakura crossed the street and went back into the apartment complex through the coded gate, bags slung over one shoulder as he climbed the stairs and held his phone in his other hand. His brow furrowed when he thought back to that interaction, wondering what exactly that tank of a man had meant. Episodes…

_wait whaaat_

_lol that grocery store near your place must have a good olive bar_

For whatever reason, Bakura felt a distinct and sudden urge to ask Malik just how long he was planning to stay in Domino, but he shut the front door behind him and squelched that down quickly. This was a “friends with benefits” thing, after all, and he didn’t want to seem like he cared too much about what this guy did or planned to do.

_He invited me to dinner at your place, just FYI._

_oh when are you coming over?_

_i’ll make sure to cook some lentil soup with tons of vegetables for you_

Bakura snorted, easily able to read the sass there.

_You have terrible taste._

_and you taste terrible_

_jk_

_:P_

Feeling the space between his legs pulse awkwardly, the pale man sighed out and began to put the groceries away in the fridge and cupboards, snapping a piece of white chocolate from the bar and holding it between his teeth as he folded the reusable bags and hung them inside the cabinet across from the stove.

Human emotions really were unequivocally disgusting. So disgusting, in fact, that Bakura couldn’t help but slowly ease down on the sofa, staring at his screen and licking his lips, unable to help but start falling into the degeneracy of it all.

_You haven’t even tasted me yet._

_Should I shove it down your throat and shut you up?_

_hmm on one condition_

_you eat me after_

_*my cooking_

_;)_

“Bakura?”

In what was perhaps not his most elegant or steadfast display, Bakura literally tensed up so hard he tumbled off the side of the sofa, bat-wings flexed outwards and face pink as he stared up over the top of the couch at Ryou’s surprised face in the doorway.

“Are you okay?”

Bakura grunted and quickly pushed up on his elbows, hoping against hope that his phone had fallen somewhere where the screen wasn’t visible to Ryou’s big dark eyes.

“Yeah. I got groceries,” he told him in what he hoped was a normal and completely unsuspicious voice, slowly pushing back up to his feet and righting the fallen couch pillow where it had plopped off to the side. Ryou looked slightly confused, but then smiled and hung his little shoulder bag next to the door on the coat rack, toeing off his shoes and walking into the kitchen.

“I was going to make some miso and tuna salad tonight,” the smaller male told him, peeking at him from over the top of the kitchen island. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” Bakura muttered, trying to pull his mind away from Malik. It wasn’t exactly a good look to go right back over there again, as tempting as it was to take Rishid up on his offer so he could get the sassy blonde alone and bring him to his knees, literally. The last thing he needed to appear was desperate. Therefore, after a moment of deliberation, he sent the blonde a final text and tossed his phone back onto the sofa cushion.

_I’m going to make you wait for it._

“I’ll help,” he then said to Ryou, striding into the kitchen area.

“Oh, thanks,” his roommate replied softly, opening the fridge and glancing back at him over his shoulder with a knowing smile.

“What is this garlic for?”

Bakura clicked his tongue and turned his face away, recalling the time he’d been caught gums-deep in a clove on the couch after midnight and how Ryou liked to tease him about what was supposedly an unconventional snack choice. How different was it from eating an apple, exactly?

They had their meal in relative silence, with Ryou smiling at his phone and Bakura trying actively not to think about what exactly he was grinning about. It occurred to him that, at the present time, having his own body was something of a blessing, given Ryou’s relationship with Jonouchi. He cringed to think of that guy putting his arm around his waist, or attempting something even worse while he was residing in there.

After cleaning his plate, Bakura stumbled back into his bedroom and plopped down, mind replaying back to him the events of the day. When he rolled over onto his back, his thoughts were momentarily interrupted by a string of familiar beeps, which had him sitting up on his elbows. Looking towards the doorway, he slowly got to his feet and made his way back out into the living room, eyeing his phone that he had forgotten on the sofa.

**Malibu Barbie**

_Calling…_

\--


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience on this one. As the story becomes more complex, I have to take more things into account. ^_^
> 
> Chapter 8 will have some straight-up porn, so please stay tuned!

\--

To say that he was caught off-guard would have been an understatement.

Bakura stared at his phone screen, watching the ellipsis pop into place after the ‘Calling’ text with each ring. Swallowing, he fought the temptation to let it go to voicemail, reaching for his phone slowly. He and Ryou spoke on the phone fairly frequently, which wasn’t weird, but the prospect of speaking with Malik made their arrangement seem all too real-

“What?” he asked as he picked the phone up and swiped to answer, hoping he sounded normal.

The voice that greeted him was quiet, and Bakura immediately wondered about the nature of this call, and whether it was appropriate to be taken out in the sitting room where his roommate could theoretically listen in.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Bakura,” Malik murmured. Standing up stiffly, Bakura turned and quickly made his way down the hall, brushing past the kitchen where Ryou stood washing their dishes from dinner and pulling his bedroom door shut as he entered.

“Hey,” Bakura eventually managed, aware of the tenseness in his voice. So he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly.

There was an undeniably awkward silence for just a couple of seconds, until his caller broke the ice.

“What are you up to?”

That wasn’t at all what Bakura had expected him to say, but then again, he wasn’t sure he had had any clear expectations in mind.

“Just had dinner,” he relayed and plopped down on the mattress, hoping he didn’t sound uncomfortable enough for Malik to make fun of him about it. He had a quiet sense, though, that it wasn’t going to be that kind of phone call.

“Oh. What did you have?”

“Salad and soup.”

“Really? Actual vegetables?” There was that lilt, the slightly playful one, though Malik still sounded a bit breathless and odd. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Bakura snorted softly, wondering if the gentler cadence of Malik’s usually-sharp tone was the result of a bad connection, or something. “I’m more interested about what you have in you,” he found himself goading, starting to doubt his own waning discomfort. “If anything, that is.”

The muffled breath on the other line indicated a laugh, albeit a quiet one.

“How could I? You aren’t over here right now.”

Inhaling sharply, Bakura rolled over onto his front to prevent himself from doing anything that might cause him to make an audible noise. “Is that an invitation?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the mere existence of which seemed particularly out-of-character. Malik was typically extremely fast on his tongue.

“Well, Rishid invited you, remember?” came that voice again. Bakura scoffed.

“Shall I come, then? Sounds like you already did.”

The line was, once again, silent for a few seconds. Bakura found himself frowning. Okay, so it wasn’t like their whole arrangement wasn’t a long shot already to begin with, but what the hell was the point of the call if-

“Oh, sorry, I need to go,” Malik whispered, sounding slightly far away. Bakura sat up.

“Uh-“

“Text me. See you later.”

The line went dead abruptly, leaving Bakura hunched over and sitting in silence.

What the fuck?

Genuinely stumped, Bakura pulled the phone from his ear and just stared at the screen for a moment. It didn’t seem like a joke, or if it was, it was certainly a bad one. Perhaps it was Malik’s way of trying to tempt him? What was he supposed to do, just show up at their door sometime without actually making plans? Why call in the first place instead of texting?

This had to be the exact type of weird shit that ruined fuck-buddy relationships.

More frustrated than before, Bakura sighed out in exasperation. Even after they had finished making out the day before, the guy hadn’t sounded quite like that…

Trying to put it out of his mind, he glanced out his window at the dark sky and settled down under his thick duvet, starting to feel the autumn chill. Normally, at this time of night, he would stay up for several hours playing his games or watching mindless videos on YouTube. Something about that night, though, and the way his stomach churned, had him wondering whether he should turn in early. Maybe he needed to start putting the heat on in the evenings.

“I’m heading to bed,” came Ryou’s voice from behind the closed door, and Bakura grunted out a sleepy reply, pressing his face down into his pillow.

\--

Since Malik was normally known for his promptness in returning text messages, Bakura started to find himself unnerved by the lack of communication throughout the next week.

The pale man did his usual rounds of chores and shopping, but there was really only so much that needed to be done for a household of two. Therefore, more often than not, he was spending hours each day sitting around on his phone, trying to focus on his chosen video or game rather than the lack of incoming messages. His logical side was quick to remind him of how stupid he was being whenever he caught himself eyeing his notifications- it had been nearly two years, now, that he had been back, and the vast majority of that time had been spent doing exactly what he was doing now, lazing around and communicating primarily with only one other person. Malik had only come back into his life about a month prior, after all, so why did the sudden lack of stupid emojis and selfies seem so…wrong?

The unexpected absence was even more annoying because Bakura couldn’t get the Egyptian out of his head. Over and over, he found himself replaying that warm feeling- his lips frequently tingled when he remembered their kisses, and the space between his legs panged and pulsed. He recalled Malik’s soft breaths of surprise, the scent of his hair, the slightly floral taste of his skin, the slip of his mouth. It was all he could do to keep these frequent and disgusting moments of fantasy to himself, as they often surfaced shamefully in the forefront of his mind while he was doing otherwise mindless and benign things, like sweeping the floor or shredding carrots for dinner.

That wasn’t to say there was no communication at all. Malik did return his messages, albeit usually after twenty or thirty minutes, rather than instantaneously. His texts were also devoid of the usual pep; ‘whats uppp’ had become ‘how are you?’, which, if Bakura said so himself, was very un-Malik-like in pretty much every conceivable way. Not that it really affected him, but it was still disorienting. Bakura basically found himself assuming that, for whatever reason, Malik had become bored enough with their tenuous arrangement that he didn’t see any reason to continue his previously vivacious and flirty behavior.

That frustrated Bakura. Seriously, they hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet and the guy was having second thoughts? Was he that bad of a kisser?

One Tuesday, while he was digging through old clothes and making a pile to donate as per Ryou’s careful instructions, his phone buzzed and he glanced over to it, surprised to see the familiar nickname pop up on the screen. Without thinking, he swiped to open the message and scanned over the long string of text.

**Malibu Barbie**

_sister’s stay is being extended through the new year. Rishid is dealing with the rental cars right now._ _wanna come help me load artifacts into a moving truck? will buy you dinner_

It was definitely the longest message ever exchanged between them, and Bakura reread it a few times. It still seemed slightly out-of-character, but he couldn’t help but feel some cursory relief. As much as he wanted to make Malik wait for a response and give him a taste of his own medicine, he couldn’t help but type out a reply almost immediately.

_Need to finish something first. Can I come around 5?_

_sure, we have the truck for the evening_

_thanks :)_

It was perhaps a sad day when he was this anxious to help someone with something so banal, but Bakura tried to shove that thought away. He just needed to get out of the house.

As usual, Ryou had taken their car for the afternoon, so Bakura ordered his usual Uber. The trip was about twenty minutes, and he grunted softly to the driver as he slipper out the back door of the sedan, looking at the façade of the house curiously.

Like Malik had promised, there was indeed a rather nondescript white moving truck parked at the front of the premises, with its back hatch pulled open and a sleek metal ramp pulled out to meet the pavement at its base. There were several brown boxes already loaded up on the grass between the sidewalk and the curb nearby. For the first time that day, Bakura noticed vaguely that it was getting dark and cloudy outside, and in the corner of his eye the door to the carport area opened up, and a very familiar figure made his way out slowly, arms wrapped around a large package wrapped in butcher paper.

Without really thinking about it, Bakura quickly made his way over towards him, reaching for the package almost instinctively. Malik’s forearms brushed softly against his white palms as he collected the precariously-sized item into his grasp.

“You’re early!” Malik replied, sounding relieved. Bakura smirked, holding onto the package securely.

“You should really be paying for my Ubers,” he snorted in response and turned, following Malik over to the truck. The blonde gestured tiredly towards one of the corners, and Bakura couldn’t help but notice the slight darkness that had settled under his lower lids, deeper brown in color than his skin tone. He recalled seeing that exhaustion in his face before, but he hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

“Just put that one in the back for now,” Malik told him, then seeming to register his comment and sending him a lidded-eyed smile that made Bakura’s entire being pulse and swell. “I thought I was supposed to be the one taking your money.”

Bakura paused, soon recalling the similar joke he had made before and snickering as he maneuvered whatever the wrapped thing was into place in the corner of the truck bed.

“I suppose you did offer to pay me with food,” he mused, meeting those familiar, cool lavender eyes. “You seem to be very interested in me eating.”

Unexpectedly, the ever-smug blonde actually looked slightly abashed at that. Bakura noticed his cheeks turning a little reddish-purple, and he couldn’t help but swallow some unexpected saliva that pooled beneath his tongue, wondering what Malik might look like with a full flush.

“Guilty. Now come make yourself useful.”

There were probably about fifteen boxes of varying sizes in total, and a few more large wrapped items in similar butcher paper to the first he had handled at the start. Malik occasionally went indoors to collect more packages while Bakura moved the ones that had already accumulated off from the sidewalk and into the back of the truck. While most of them were of a fairly manageable size, some of them were heavy, leaving Bakura to wonder what was inside them. It made more sense, now, why his rival might have needed help, though he did find it a little odd that someone of similar height and strength to him would need much assistance with a task like this. He could only hope it was just an excuse for something that involved a little more…close contact.

Malik finally returned with a tall and narrow box and carried it into the truck bed before bending down, settling it cautiously against the wall. For a split second, the back of his shirt lifted just a bit, attracting Bakura’s attention to the strip of brown flesh that was exposed, red and angry with white streaks spanning across.

Malik stood, and his shirt shifted to cover what he had seen, leaving Bakura to blink silently. What the hell?

“That’s all of them,” the Egyptian sighed, snapping him out of his thoughts as he pulled down the back hatch to the truck. “Do you want to get dinner?”

Bakura nodded, attention grabbed easily.

“I get to pick,” he decided, folding his arms. Malik clicked his tongue as a gentle rumble of thunder rang out in the distance.

“Sure. We don’t really have a car here right now,” the blonde reminded. “There’s a shopping center right down the road with some restaurants. We could walk.”

The stroll was short, and the two fell into pace beside one another as they stepped off the sidewalk and into the nearby parking lot, Malik drifting slightly behind him as if to follow his lead. With certainty, the pale man led his companion easily into the restaurant in the West-most corner, striding into the seat-yourself area and plopping down into one of the booths. Malik took position across from him, looking around curiously with the air of a kid at an amusement park.

“What is this?”

“Sushi,” Bakura replied with a grin. Malik glanced about, surveying the table layout and prep counter near the door.

“Isn’t that raw fish?”

“Mhm.”

The blonde wrinkled his nose.

“I suppose I should start getting more used to Japanese food,” he mused aloud, extracting a menu from the plastic caddy behind the soy sauce bottles. “Especially since we’ll be here for awhile, now.”

Bakura observed the gentle curvature of Malik’s full cheek as it leaned into his palm, taking a few moments to register what he had said. Oh, right.

“Turning out to be a long vacation, huh?”

Malik smiled. “Not happy to hear I’ll be around?”

That wasn’t true in the slightest, but Bakura had no idea how he would say such a thing without sounding utterly too invested in their tenuous arrangement, so he replied with an entirely noncommittal hum in his direction. A passing waiter set down two glasses of ice water for them, and Malik thanked him while he surveyed his options.

Despite the slow communication over the past couple of weeks, and that underlying sexual tension that never quite seemed to fade entirely, Bakura couldn’t help but feel like there was something strangely comfortable about this situation. Maybe he had just gotten used to this guy’s general mannerisms, and hell- it wasn’t like they had any real commitment to one another, so that was probably part of it. It wasn’t like hanging out with Ryou, who was sometimes unknowingly angelic to the point that it made Bakura feel guilty by merely existing in the same room as him. When Malik turned noticeably to look at Bakura, the pale man reflexively looked away, marking down his desired sushi order on one of the provided paper slips near the napkin dispenser.

“I like the look of that bridge just west of here,” the blonde stated, placing his own slip at the edge of the table for collection. “Looks like there’s a really nice view of the water.”

Bakura half-shrugged, perfectly aware of which one he was referring to.

“I have to drive over it to get to the bank sometimes,” he admitted. “People jump off once in awhile. End up on the news.”

Thunder boomed outside, drawing both their gazes over to the front door of the restaurant.

“Shit.”

There was an inflection of Malik’s distinctive accent in the curse, which made Bakura chuckle.

“Scared of thunder?” he teased. Malik rolled his eyes.

“More like scared of getting drenched,” he replied, stirring a finger in his drink among the cubes of ice. Bakura realized he was staring at him, and forced himself to focus on the tabletop, wishing he didn’t feel so compelled to admire the feathery way his ashy hair curved around the base of his neck and over his bronze collarbone.

Their meal was fairly uneventful, with Bakura devouring several raw tuna rolls and a crab rangoon appetizer. Malik had apparently found a sushi roll that contained mushrooms in the place of meat, and satisfied himself with a couple of those while Bakura made a deliberate show out of gorging on what he was sure would amount to an expensive bill. Once they had cleaned their plates, the blonde sat up and moved to shift out of the booth, shifting, back brushing the booth cushion.

His body tensed up visibly and Bakura looked upwards, meeting a somewhat pained expression before Malik righted himself and gingerly got to his feet. The Egyptian quickly went up to pay at the front. Come to think of it, he had been moving kind of hesitantly even since earlier…

“It’s already dark out,” he realized aloud as he backed away from the register, and Bakura grunted his realization, peering out at the cloudy sky and listening to the sound of the rain.

“And pouring,” he pointed out, to no reply. Once Malik had collected his credit card and didn’t move to take the first step towards the exit, body oddly withdrawn with his legs together and hands clasped in front of him, Bakura stepped ahead unsurely and opened the door.

The brisk jog back to Malik’s house felt longer than it would have otherwise, and not only because Bakura was getting pelted with icy water with every solitary leap over the pavement. His dinner date kept pace with him, sometimes falling a step or two behind as they ran, but the silence between them was starting to get weird. Typically, he would have expected such a situation to result in immediate rivalry, but Malik didn’t make any move to run ahead of him, and there were no challenging smirks or taunts in his direction, just the soft breaths of exertion that punctuated the wet sounds of rain splattering on the concrete. When they met the front door to the house, though, Malik quickly stepped ahead and fumbled into his pocket for his keys, arm visibly shaky and imprecise in its movements.

Malik’s heavy breathing was more obvious, now, and his light eyes were downcast and fixed on the soaked welcome mat. Disturbed by the sudden and uncharacteristic franticness, the pale man could only watch, cold water streaming in rivulets down his hair and face as Malik fished his keys out and his hand shook so badly that he promptly dropped them.

Without thinking, Bakura knelt down and quickly picked them up off the wet ground. Never in his life had he seen Malik act so frantic…and what the fuck for? Maybe they didn’t have enough rainstorms in Egypt for him to be accustomed to them?

Seemingly grateful, the blonde grasped ahold of his keys, and their wet hands brushed as he jammed the correct one into the lock, allowing them both inside and all but flying across the room to turn on the floor lamp that stood near the corner of the hall. There was a sudden and noticeable sag in his shoulders, and his posture relaxed as he turned back around. Bakura rubbed some of the water out of his eyes, blinking as he tried to process the weird behavior, only to have Malik laugh back at him breathlessly.

“Hah- you look like a drowned rat!”

Any relief Bakura felt in Malik’s returned sass was offset by annoyance immediately. He sniffed, observing the way Malik’s black kohl smeared in foggy halos around his bright eyes, and how his round face was framed by his soaked blonde hair.

“Look who’s talking, you Ganguro girl.”

Malik clearly didn’t understand the very Japanese reference, and just watched Bakura unsurely while Bakura cackled at his own joke.

“Hah!...Fuck, we’re soaked,” Bakura realized. Malik sighed and reached out to take his wrist.

“Come on.”

Spirited away up the stairs, Bakura stumbled into Malik’s bedroom and watched as his companion opened up the closet, rifling through. He found himself staring at the way his soaked pants clung to his thighs, his backside- There was something irritatingly sexy about that, being able to see every curve of that tight tan body under those thin cloths, and he had to blink himself out of his reverie when something thick and red was thrust into his arms.

“This is one of Rishid’s,” Malik explained, pointing at what appeared to be a wine red hoodie with white cuffed sleeves. “It’s pretty warm.”

Getting a vague feeling that he had seen a similar article of clothing somewhere before, Bakura turned around out of habit and stripped out of his wet t-shirt, using it to squeeze some of the water out of his long hair and instead donning the offered top with an exhale of relief. “My pants are still soaked,” he complained aloud, not quite registering the potential for the situation until he turned around and saw Malik standing there in just a black and soft-looking robe.

“Do you really need pants?” Malik murmured to him, wiping his wet face on a tissue from the bedside table. Those purple eyes were wide and inquisitive, and Bakura didn’t mistake the shine in them, brain finally catching up to the nature of the setting, where they were, and how that lithe body turned in his direction, displaying the tops of Malik’s thighs underneath the slightly frayed cloth trim.

Time moved instantaneously. Bakura found himself immediately against Malik, front to front, and the other backed up slowly towards the closet door, reaching out to grip his hands into cloth of the borrowed hoodie.

“I don’t know, do I?” Bakura murmured, catching a whiff of that floral scent and feeling a strange, deep, slow pang of something settle in his throat, almost thick enough to taste on his tongue. Malik leaned in, their noses brushing, and Bakura could feel the warmth of his breath fan out against his lips and chin.

“I’d be fine with you taking them off.”

When their mouths aligned, it felt like the gentle flame of a fire licking against Bakura’s face. He acted on instinct, purely, as he pressed even closer to Malik, Bakura’s bare skin to the soft fabric of Malik’s robe. Before he could anticipate it, those warm palms that gripped into his hoodie moved to press against his chest, and Bakura sucked in an unconscious breath of surprise, slowly freezing up in the realization that Malik’s fingers-

He could tell Malik felt them, because when their gazes met, the confusion in his hazy eyes was obvious. Blessedly, the blonde elected not to mention the circle of deep scars under his fingertips, electing instead to wrap his arms around Bakura’s neck.

The pair moved together again, picking off easily where they had left off. Slowly, Bakura grasped Malik by the hips just as he pressed his tongue along his lush lower lip, able to feel the thrum of his companion’s heartbeat between the push of their bare chests. Malik’s skin was smooth, and it slid against his in a way that was intimate beyond Bakura’s experience, so he found himself pulling back just for a moment to catch his breath, eyes narrowed and focused on the way Malik’s thick lashes fluttered on his cheeks.

There was a gentle pulse of something that surged through Bakura as he looked at the delicate features, something warm and yet frightening, and he couldn’t help but feel it practically radiating from his palms as he wrapped one arm around the small of Malik’s back, holding him closer and more gently than he ever would have intended to.

Malik, thankfully, took this in stride and merely tilted his head to the side to press his mouth closer, stroking his tongue along Bakura’s palate in a way that made sparks dance behind his eyelids. The heat of his skin radiated into Bakura’s arm, and before he could effectively press his own tongue even deeper into the blonde’s mouth, he felt the slow and sure press of a warm knee against his ribs.

Oh…Oh, God.

Malik literally had one leg wrapped around him.

In that instant, gone was the restraint Bakura had been forcing through his bones, and he gripped Malik firmly around the waist with both arms, spinning them both around and backing his partner up against the bed. Malik plopped down with a gasp onto the mattress, leg tightening around Bakura’s hip in an effort to support his weight.

“Bakura,” the blonde breathed out, abdomen shoved up close against Bakura’s pale body. A shiver wracked Bakura’s entire being and he groaned, slightly embarrassed about the rasp in his voice.

“Yes?” he replied, voice laced with a teasing edge. Okay, so maybe it was sort of thrilling to have such an intelligent and strong person wrapped around his finger. Slightly dazed-seeming, Malik blinked up at him and then averted his gaze, cheeks powdered with a deep purple-red in the most captivating blush Bakura had ever laid witness to.

“You’re embarrassing.”

Bakura grinned wider, getting an extra thrill out of the obvious vulnerability.

“Sounds like you’re just embarrassed that you like to take it,” he asserted boldly, the unintentional rasp in his voice adding to the tension in the air. Malik took a visible breath, placing one of his hands back on the bed to brace himself as he met his eyes.

“I like taking what I want,” he defended, though his voice was soft, too. “Who doesn’t?”

That was all the confirmation Bakura needed about how this was going to go down, and it sent a rush of anticipation so deep through his belly and right between his legs like nothing ever had before in this life.

They kissed once again, this time initiated when Malik leaned up to lick at the seam of Bakura’s mouth, the tip of his tongue dancing across his lips with uncharacteristic delicacy. Before Bakura could let his hands roam, wanting to touch more of him, he felt hands on his shoulders and unsurely allowed himself to be pressed down into a seated position on the bed, capacity for words leaving him momentarily when Malik, long limbs and all, slowly crept forwards until he was seated in Bakura’s lap. Bakura felt the lush backside press against his groin and had to steel himself to keep from accidentally bucking his partner off.

“You look good in that,” the blonde hummed to him, gripping into the lapels of the red jacket and settling down in place as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Any final restraints broke inside him and Bakura reached behind Malik, sinking his hands into the meat of his ass and squeezing firmly. Malik’s whimpery noise probably should have been illegal. Bakura kissed his lips harshly in response, hips jerking upwards instinctively to press against the soft and undeniably smooth backs of the blonde’s thighs.

“Mmph, do you shave?” he found himself muttering as he gripped into the taut buttocks. Malik grinned against his mouth, clearly understanding the question given the area of focus.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Pride thrown to the wind, Bakura slipped one hand off the warm backside and reached in through the front parting of the cloth between Malik’s legs, pressing his fingers experimentally there and feeling a smooth and hard, warm pulse against his palm. There was a breath of the same air shared between their faces before the Egyptian kissed him again, lips starting at his chin and working up to slot in with his.

Bakura swallowed. He had no experience whatsoever, but it felt so good to touch him that he couldn’t feel too self-conscious. Finally letting his actions move in the direction of so many of his private fantasies, he cupped the hot shaft in his grasp and began to stroke it beneath the black cloth, breaking free from the kiss and moving his lips and tongue to suck and lap at that delicious bronze throat.

Gone was the uncharacteristically hesitant Malik from earlier, and the blonde reached out and gripped his arms around Bakura’s neck, keening softly against the shell of his ear.

“Bakura~”

Once again, Bakura could hear the tinge of his accent, thick in his throat and yet soft, speaking his name in a way that made his head swim. The scent of lotus hit him a little more strongly, putting him in a momentary daze. For no discernable reason, his body began to feel warmer, not in a flushed way, but as though the heat was radiating down upon him from a sun that wasn’t out, warming him along flesh that wasn’t even exposed. The thunder boomed outside, and he felt as though he could smell the water despite the walls and windows that separated him from the pouring rain, nosing along Malik’s collarbone and kneading at his backside with renewed comfort and vigor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it felt like he was somewhere familiar, and yet it was also just like a dream from which he never wanted to wake up.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t tease,” Malik whined. Bakura chose that moment to squeeze against the organ in his palm, delighting in his partner’s pleasured groan of complaint.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Bastard- Ahh…”

If there was any greater pleasure than reducing this exceedingly powerful male to a whimpering mess, Bakura hadn’t encountered it yet. Pulling his lips from Malik’s neck, he settled back slowly against the bed and continued to rub the blonde’s hidden shaft against his wrist and palm, feeling it curve up easily to kiss the undersides of his fingers.

The blonde’s resounding groan was punctuated by a loud crash of lightning, which caused both figures to jerk slightly, followed by some slightly abashed eye contact between them. Malik’s flushed face gazed back at him, and his wet lips and lavender eyes sent him identical smiles. Again, Bakura squeezed him, watching in unabashed satisfaction when Malik’s eyes fluttered shut, body arching to press against his.

This was going to be a good night.

\--


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this installment. This is the part of the story where things are beginning to amp up, so I wanted to take special care with it.
> 
> This chapter is illustrated (by myself) at the very end- don't scroll down too far before reading unless you don't mind a spoiler :)

\--

When he kissed Malik, it sometimes felt as though time had slowed.

The blonde nipped at Bakura’s lower lip teasingly, bringing his warm palms up the sides of the borrowed hoodie. Able to feel his thumbs pressing along his pale skin, Bakura shivered and tilted his head to the side, tracing the meat of his tongue slowly against the smooth slope of Malik’s palate.

He felt Malik shiver in his arms, leaning closer into his grasp and bringing their bare, damp chests together.

“Shit,” Bakura breathed out when he pulled back for air, fighting with himself not to appear too affected by all of this. A quick glance at his partner brought him face-to-face with those glossy eyes, and he looked into the lidded lavender silently, only to see Malik quirking his lips at him.

“Hm?” the Egyptian asked coyly, settling back a little onto Bakura’s lap. “That’s quite the face you’re making.”

“You’re one to talk,” Bakura rebutted, self-consciously aware that his own voice was coming out raspy. Malik raised his eyebrows, sticking his tongue out sassily from between his glossy lips in an expression that was decidedly familiar.

“Don’t do that,” Bakura snorted. “You look like your other half.”

The blonde wrinkled his nose at him, shoving his face up closer defiantly and murmuring against the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.”

As they locked mouths yet again, Bakura was vaguely aware that Malik was smoothing his palms down his chest and abdomen. The blonde began to lick at the underside of his jaw, then his neck, and then down the exposed skin of his chest, causing Bakura’s fingers to tighten in the ashy-colored hair while a slow realization settled over him. Before he knew it, Malik had plopped down onto the mattress on his front, and was peering up at him smugly from his position between Bakura’s legs.

“You said you were taking these off,” Malik teased, reaching without further warning for his fly and easily popping the button from its slot. Bakura was frozen, watching silently as the dark-skinned male eased down his fly. Before he could even think to react, the warm hand dipped immediately behind the waistband of his boxer briefs, fondling his most intimate part.

“Ff..!!” Bakura pressed his hand against his mouth to stop himself from shouting. Just the sight of Malik down there, holding him by the base and looking up at him like he wasn’t even embarrassed…

“You-” He choked on air when Malik swallowed him down unexpectedly.

Okay, this wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting…but he wasn’t complaining in the slightest when he felt the sensitive head of his cock graze against the back of Malik’s throat. Desperate for somewhere to put his hands, Bakura slowly sank them into the still-wet locks, ignoring the deep booms of thunder that rang out from outside.

“Nnh, suck me,” he whispered unthinkingly. There had maybe been a small and clandestine part of himself that had been just the slightest bit concerned about Malik seeing his…manhood, but any of that remaining apprehension melted like ice when he watched his partner place his palms against his thighs, lashes fluttering as he took him in.

Then he swallowed, and Bakura had to grit his teeth hard to keep from embarrassing himself in more ways than one.

That sinful tongue was licking up the pale base of him, slipping around beneath the crown of his head and then up over the slit while Bakura’s heart pounded hard in his ears. He couldn’t help but gasp for breath and grip harder against his scalp, pressing his pelvis forward a little until he felt short nails digging warningly into his leg, forcing him not to quite literally fuck Malik’s throat.

Stars began to dance behind his vision when he closed his eyes, feeling the warm back of Malik’s neck under his fingertips. His balls drew up against Malik’s jaw, and his thoughts were hazy, undefined. More. Never in his life could he ever remember feeling so good-

“Malik,” he rasped suddenly, eyes opening fast as he gripped and pulled lightly at the long back of his hair, trying instinctively to warn him when it hit him.

He could feel Malik’s lips seal around his base as he came, body jerking forward and arms wrapping like a vice around his partner’s head. Pleasure flooded his veins as he gasped and then groaned, thighs shaky against Malik’s warm cheeks. His muscles relaxed and he slumped forward, only able to breathe heavy and watch as Malik leaned back, dark throat flexing visibly as he ran his tongue along his lower lip.

“…You swallowed it,” Bakura finally managed, still blinking himself back into cognizance. Malik smiled, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth and slowly easing himself back up to sit across from him.

“This is a hotel, Bakura. You were going to make a mess.”

Laughing breathlessly, the pale man took another slow breath and sat up straighter. Malik’s eyes were practically twinkling at him, as though they were daring him to one-up him in some way. Encouraged, Bakura all but lunged for the blonde and knocked him backwards into the mattress, digging his hands into his sides and pressing his lips up Malik’s chin. His fingers pressed eagerly into Malik’s back, and he felt a deep texture under his palms-

“FUCK!”

Malik’s voice broke in what could only be interpreted as a shriek. Startled, Bakura let go immediately, watching the blonde shift onto his elbows and scoot backwards away from Bakura’s grasp. About to apologize, Bakura let his eyes roam down the exposed chest that peeked out from behind the layers of black cloth, gaze falling on Malik’s side when it finally registered exactly what he had touched.

“What the hell?” he finally managed, shifting forwards, only to see Malik shift back further with an uncharacteristic pallor in his face.

“Bakura…“

Perhaps in the past, he would have gotten a kick out of seeing someone like Malik in such a tight spot. Given the context, though, and the pieces that began to fall into place, Bakura found himself frowning, thinking about the things he had seen.

“Show me your back.”

Perhaps that was bold of him, but the images from before were already seared into his brain- the weird scratches at the base of Malik’s neck, the white and red streaks that were exposed on the small of his back when he bent over. The Egyptian looked back at him as though he had just told him he had killed his mother, or something.

Clearly, the sexy part of the night was over. Bakura narrowed his eyes, somehow particularly curious about this thing he had been noticing and yet had no explanation for. Determined, he shifted forward again on his hands and knees, aware the hoodie was still hanging open, exposing the ring of scars on his chest. He reached up and, after a moment of apprehension, pulled one side of the garment away from his ribs.

“I have scars too, Ishtar,” he spat. “Show me.”

Malik’s expression was hard to discern. He looked slightly abashed, perhaps, and definitely worried, which only made Bakura want to know what the hell was happening even more. Obviously hesitant, the blonde slowly sat up and shed the thick fabric of the robe from around his sides and shoulders, arching in a pose that would have been extremely erotic if not for the situation at hand. With a visible breath, Malik shifted and turned around to expose his back to him.

Bakura stared. The entire expanse of skin was completely marred, not only by the carved inscriptions, which looked predictably deep, but by streaks of red and dark purple, jagged and shaky lines that ran from all the way up his spine to the back of his neck beneath his long hair. The bruising was dark and murky, and flared out in round blotches like drops of oil over water, with sickening tones of deep green and yellow haloing each purple-red imprint. In a few places, Bakura could tell the skin had been broken- narrow scabs ran in thin rows, particularly between his shoulder blades. The pale man had to blink himself out of his shock, leaning forward enough to see Malik’s averted face.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Malik tensed visibly, though Bakura didn’t miss the shine of liquid on his lower lashes. “What do you care?”

“Was it your man-servant?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Frustrated, Bakura reached out and grabbed for Malik’s shoulders, shifting to sit in front of him and trying to meet his eyes, not really quite registering how close he had gotten to him.

“Then what the fuck w-“

“It’s almost winter.”

Totally lost, Bakura pressed his lips together. He was unable to do anything besides watch when Malik slowly looked up at him, obvious tears beading in his glossy eyes.

“I don’t like this time of year,” the blonde stated weakly. “My birthday is coming up.”

Bakura may not have had the most in-depth knowledge regarding Malik’s past, but the uncharacteristically shaky voice and meek tone told him everything he needed to know to answer his question. What his birthday had to do with it, he couldn’t be completely sure, but it seemed reasonable to assume that being initiated as a tomb-keeper had had something to do with the inception of Malik’s dark side, and they had had a brief discussion regarding birthdays before…

“You did this,” he stated. Malik closed his eyes.

“I can’t help it. I want them off of me.”

It occurred to Bakura that the best and most reasonable course of action in this situation would be to let Malik cover up, remind himself that everybody came with their own twisted baggage, and laugh it off since he probably wouldn’t ever see the guy again anyways after the excitement of their arrangement wore off. At the cusp of that thought, though, something deep and painful twinged in his chest and arm, reminding him of the sharp agony he himself had felt in Ryou’s body years back, when the cold metal of the knife had cut into his shoulder.

Spurred on by something he couldn’t name, he grunted and rolled off of the side of the bed.

“Lay down. Where’s that lotus crap you use?”

Malik turned to him with a wide-eyed look.

“Huh?”

“I’ll rub it on your back,” Bakura decided. “That’s what you do so it stops hurting, right?”

He pulled open the bedside drawer, rustling around until he located the jar he remembered from before. Unexpectedly, Malik didn’t reply to him, so when Bakura moved to face him, he hadn’t expected to see him laying face-down in the covers, head turned towards him and visage noticeably shy.

“Be gentle,” Malik warned, averting his eyes. “If you hurt me, you’ll regret it.”

The gravity of the situation mixed with the uncharacteristic behavior sent an unexpected chuckle tumbling off Bakura’s tongue.

“You’re not exactly in a position to be making threats,” the pale man replied, easing himself onto the bed. A small corner of his mind told him that this was wrong, that nobody in their right mind would think to get this involved with someone who was purely a sex-acquaintance at best, and that he was only making himself potentially vulnerable and emotionally weak by offering assistance with something that was clearly personal and fucked-up. His hands seemed to work of their own accord, though, regardless, one bracing itself on Malik’s left shoulder while the other dipped into the thick balm. Bakura wrinkled his nose.

“It’s like old lady perfume,” he complained as he slowly began to slick the stuff over the brown skin. He heard Malik sigh, which was another thing that would have been particularly sexy if not for the circumstances.

“It’s not perfume, it’s balm.”

“Whatever.” Bakura smoothed the thick paste over both of his hands to warm it up, feeling it glide more easily with the added heat and gently easing his palms over Malik’s spine. Maybe it would have seemed weird to most people, the effortless transition between heavy conversation and light banter, but as he found himself gazing over the multitude of hieroglyphs obscured by bruises and scrapes, it didn’t feel weird at all.

Okay, maybe a little weird, but not in any way he couldn’t handle.

Malik sighed out again. Relieved not to hear any pain in his tone, Bakura began to focus in on the individual letters, able to see the rough texture of how such ancient shapes that been formed into the living skin.

“Pha-raoh,” he said aloud as he looked over them, sounding out the syllables. The body shifted beneath him, and he saw Malik looking back at him over one shoulder, face unusually pale.

Shit. Swallowing, Bakura reached out and continued rubbing the fragrant paste, now oil, into Malik’s flesh.

“Sorry,” he eventually said, eyes cast downwards. It was sort of embarrassing, this feeling of vulnerability, but he could only imagine how it must feel to have the literal source of your angst read out to you. He felt the figure beneath his touch expand, and then contract with a slow exhale.

“You really can read it well,” his partner told him, easing himself back into the bedding. “Do you have any other weird talents?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bakura sniffed, ghosting his way down Malik’s lower back. His partner flinched slightly, but allowed the contact anyways, burying his face into the pillow again. Slowly, the pale man did his best to keep a light touch, wondering why on Earth he was even bothering, why he didn’t just dip out with a goodnight and forget this awkward encounter had ever happened.

It had to just be a consequence of the strangeness of it all. Never before had he really seen Malik so…vulnerable, well, except for that one time he had found him bleeding all over the place.

The next few minutes passed in silence. Easing his hands off his sides, Bakura sat backwards onto his heels.

“Hey, do you put gauze or something on this?”

No response. Raising an eyebrow, he reached out in preparation to shake his shoulder, only to realize that Malik’s breaths had become slow and steady, shoulder blades rising and falling in a quiet rhythm.

Seriously? Who could fall asleep after all of that?

Bakura got up and went into the adjoined bathroom, getting his first really good luck at it since the bloody encounter a few weeks back. He washed his hands of the thick oil, spotting a washcloth and then deciding to wash his face too, before returning and sitting awkwardly on the bed. Realizing his pants were still wet, he shifted out of them slowly and then tossed them onto the carpet. He had a feeling he knew what Rishid had meant by ‘episodes’, now.

Obviously, the sensible thing to do would have been to throw his regular clothes back on and head out into the cold, but the warmth of the room stopped him from pursuing that. The patter of the rain was audible outside. Before he could think too hard about it, he found himself slowly settling back down onto the bed beside his sleeping host, looking at the blue walls for a few minutes before closing his eyes.

Maybe he could just rest until the rain stopped.

\--

_Smoke was filling the cold air, seeping into his lungs and stinging at the back of his tongue, but Bakura couldn’t help but gasp for air. It tasted like dirt and cinders, but there was something floral that lingered in his throat, carrying with it the scent of the Nile that rushed just down the path in the night. Through the smog, he could see both figures, his mother and his father, being led down the stone steps and farther down, farther away from their home…_

_The sound of glass breaking rang out, and he could hear the screams and cries ringing in his ears. As much as he wanted to run after them, Bakura felt weak, and his knees shook. If he stepped out, he’d fall, and they’d spot him…_

_Hopelessness and terror began to wrack his body as he clung to the edge of what had once been home. It was hell, he decided, when he looked out at the flames that began to expand out into the sky. The heat cocooned his body as he gripped on, feeling like he was being smothered-_

Bakura slowly opened one eye, frozen in fear against the bed. When he came to, he turned and immediately sat up, seeing for just a split second the fiery glow that flickered in the darkness and barely having time to ground himself in where he was before he forced both feet onto the floor, bursting into a sprint for the bathroom door.

His knees hit the tile as he collapsed, grasping ahold of the toilet bowl in both arms and emptying his guts with a sick wretch. His body shook as he coughed the phlegm from his throat, eyes wide and pupils blown. He gasped, trying to catch his breath.

This…he had to get ahold of himself. As he sat there, though, he found himself wrapping his arms around himself without meaning to, breathing heavily, trying to blink away the tears that had spring up in the corners of his eyes. His entire body was trembling. Damn it, why was he so weak…?

“Bakura?”

Bakura spun and locked eyes with Malik, who stood in the doorway with his robe. Once again, Bakura could see the orange-yellow flickering light in the darkness behind the slim figure and pressed his forearm forcibly against his mouth in instinct, another wave of nausea and fright passing through him.

Malik watched him with obvious shock. A few moments passed before he slowly settled down onto his knees, getting close enough into Bakura’s space to make Bakura shrink away. Bakura tried to tell himself it was fine. What was he even afraid of? It was just another one of those stupid fucking dreams, the ones about his past, or whatever, but-

“You’re shaking,” Malik noticed aloud and reached for him, and Bakura went to push his hand away without even registering his movements. He didn’t want to be seen like this. Not by him. His stomach twisted uncomfortably again. Closing his eyes, totally humiliated, he turned and grabbed more solidly onto the toilet bowl once more and buried his face into the hole of the seat, gagging and spitting despite his shame.

Bakura couldn’t hear much over the ringing in his ears and echoes of the screams still rattling around in his skull. Shaky, he wiped his lips on his wrist and looked down at the red hoodie he wore over his pale and skinny body, trying just to breathe normally, to get ahold of himself.

This…was just Malik’s house. Shit. What time was it?

Before he knew it, Malik reappeared in the doorway in the corner of his eye, and knelt down with a glass of water extended out towards him.

“Water,” the blonde stated. As much as he wanted to be defiant, Bakura hesitantly reached out and picked it up in his shaky hand, swallowing down a few precious gulps to tame the sting in his gums.

“Shit,” he rasped, finally able to breathe well enough to talk. Malik was looking at him, he could tell, but it took a lot for Bakura to meet his eyes in return.

“We didn’t even drink,” the Egyptian commented in a concerned tone. “Do you think you got food poisoning?”

Relieved, at least, to know that Malik seemed somewhat oblivious to his panic, the pale man shook his head and then shrugged a shoulder, handing him back the glass.

“Fuck if I know.”

Malik stared. Not at all liking the pity, Bakura quickly shifted and tried to get up to his feet, watching Malik get up across from him and hold his arms out as though he feared Bakura could fall.

“I'm fine,” he snapped in response, gripping the counter’s edge. He swayed slightly, moving a little closer to Malik without meaning to, and was able to smell the gentle scent of the lotus again. He tensed as it all rushed back to him, feeling like he could hear the rush of the river and taste the smoke in the air. Knees buckling, he tried to steel himself and felt Malik wrapping an arm around him.

What was he even doing, staying the night with a fuck-buddy like this?

“Do you need me to call someone?” Malik asked. Feeling his pride spike, Bakura forced himself out of the grip and walked on shaky legs out into the bedroom.

“No. I need to go home.”

“Wait,” his partner called and quickly followed him out, watching as the pale man stepped into his discarded pants and zipped the hoodie up over his bare chest. Bakura tried not to listen, heart still pounding as his eyes fell on the source of the orange flickering. The white candle on the desk next to the side was lit, and there was a mug of what looked like tea or coffee there next to the laptop. What time even was it?!

“See you,” Bakura replied shortly and made sure his phone and keys were both in his pocket. He turned to leave, legs shaky, and cursed through his teeth when he went stumbling down into the hall, knees burning as they collided with the carpet.

“What the hell! Don’t be so stubborn.” He heard the exasperated tone, and yet again felt the arms encircle his waist, clutching him in a tight warmth that made Bakura feel immobilized, and yet blanketed. He found himself shaking his head. What could he even say?

“Get off of me,” he breathed, reaching out and trying to shift away from Malik’s grasp. The hold on him tightened, and he gulped, suddenly afraid he was being restrained.

“Bakura-“

“Don’t touch me.” The words came out of their own accord as he all but shoved Malik off of him, forcing himself up to his feet. This was wrong. This was a stupid fling he had let himself get dragged into, a way to get his rocks off, and that was it. It wasn’t the time to be letting his inner demons make a fool out of him, to be sitting in someone else’s bedroom, traumatized by something that he couldn’t even fully remember or articulate.

Malik watched him with obvious surprise, expression seeming almost hurt. Unable to stop himself, Bakura promptly turned around and forced himself on shaky legs down the stairs, opening the front door and stepping out into the bitter cold.

It occurred to him that he did need some kind of ride, so he reached into his pocket and managed to pull out his phone with a shaky hand, blinking blearily at the chain of message previews and missed calls. Shit…He couldn’t bring himself to call back. Rubbing his eyes, still out of it from having woken so abruptly, he tapped into the app and ordered an Uber.

As expected, when he arrived home and let himself in the front door, there was immediately someone skinny and soft all but tackling him into the nearest wall.

“Where were you?!” Ryou shouted, raising his normally-quiet voice to uncommon volumes. Bakura tensed up immediately, still slightly nauseous as he tried his best to wiggle away from his roommate’s grasp.

“I’m fine,” he said, but the tone of his voice must have given him away, because Ryou backed up and looked him over with obvious worry.

“You’re so pale! What happened?”

Bakura opened his mouth to speak and winced, having to close it for a few moments when he realized his voice was going to crack.

“Malik’s,” he eventually managed, feeling too shitty both physically and morally to come up with a good lie. “Guess I ate something bad.”

Ryou’s countenance softened, and Bakura found himself being led successfully over to the sofa.

“Were you throwing up?? Do you need a bucket?”

Bakura shook his head. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be seen like this. He had had these dreams before, the ones where he saw those two robed figures getting taken through the smoke and the flames, but they had never been so vivid, so real as this one had-

Unable to help his own vulnerability, Bakura turned and sat down onto the sofa, pulling his legs underneath himself and just laying back on the cushion there. He could feel his phone buzz from his pants pocket, but he tried his hardest to ignore it.

At the same time, he heard Ryou’s feet moving fast over the floorboards, and then the creak of what sounded like his bedroom door. Surprised that Ryou would go back into his bedroom without further fussing, Bakura shifted and opened up a curious eye. A gaze he didn’t expect peered back at him from across the kitchen island and down the hall, dark and partially-covered by messy blonde hair.

Seriously?

“Uh-“ Jonouchi hummed. Ryou ducked out of the kitchen with bottle of water in his small hand, following his gaze over to Bakura with an expression that progressively became more wide-eyed and embarrassed.

“He’s just visiting…!”

It was Ryou’s guilty voice. Throat still stinging, Bakura slowly ambled back onto his feet and walked into the hallway. Making sure to send the blonde as threatening of a look as he could muster, he avoided the offered beverage and passed Ryou silently, heading into the bedroom and shutting his door with a definitive shove.

For whatever reason, he could feel his palms sweating, his neck itching and gut twisting uncomfortably. It didn’t even matter, he thought to himself as he slowly sat himself down on the mattress, flashes of his nightmare still appearing and disappearing in his mind, bright and then dark like the flicker of a candle in the night. Why the fuck did he even care? What did it matter if Ryou was banging that idiot? Why couldn’t everybody just leave him alone?

He collapsed onto the bed, trying numbly to push every solitary awful thought out of his mind. Another spike of nausea twisted within him, and he tried to pull the duvet over his head, feeling some skittering chills prick over his legs and feet. It made no sense. Never in his life had one of those fucking dreams driven him to horror and disgust of this level, nor to such a general sense of unease and anxiety with the actual world.

Bakura clutched the covers in his pale hands. He wasn’t stupid. He understood- They were memories, obviously, of the past, of what had happened so many thousands of years back. It was like stepping into a time chamber, the way he could practically taste the smoke and the fire. The acrid sting persisted even now at the back of his mouth, but he didn’t think he could bring himself to leave the room, or even the bed.

Aside from that vague memory of the Pharaoh’s final victory over him, Bakura had never felt more like he was falling apart.

His thigh itched, and he reached down slowly to pull his vibrating device out of the pocket of the hoodie, gazing blearily at the screen.

 _2 Missed Calls_ **(Malibu Barbie)**

Chest heavy with shame, he threw his phone across the room and curled back up.

\--


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who continued to have patience with me. Work is nuts! Thank goodness I am still employed.
> 
> As you may have noticed, this story is going to have 12 chapters instead of the original 10. I've already begun work on 10, so there shouldn't be as egregious of a wait for the next one.
> 
> Also, there is porn in this. 
> 
> Enjoy!

\--

Perhaps it was hypocritical to ignore so many texts after getting impatient with Malik’s dead air before, but Bakura still didn’t want to look at his phone.

It buzzed next to him, and he buried his face further underneath the pillow. Over a week had passed since he had last stumbled out of Malik’s house with vomit running down his chin, but his unwillingness to reply hadn’t wavered when he saw the number of messages go from two, to three, to five, to seven. The last he had looked, there were eleven unread messages in his and Malik’s thread, the alerts for which he always swiped away whenever they popped up on his home screen, focusing instead on his game, his music, or any messages he happened to get from Ryou.

Frustratingly, Bakura couldn’t help but feel constrained in his interactions with Ryou, too. Ever since that night he had come home and seen Jonouchi staring out at him with that stupid and typical expression, Ryou had been noticeably shy around him, speaking in a soft voice and avoiding direct eye contact. Bakura figured he probably wasn’t ready to be totally open about their relationship yet- given his and Ryou’s history, Bakura didn’t exactly find it difficult to interpret his roommate’s behaviors. Who wanted to be caught mid-rendezvous, anyway?

As far as he was concerned, it was times like these that really brought the pure patheticness of Bakura’s entire existence into painful focus. What had he even been thinking, rubbing flowery-smelling lotion onto the skin of Malik’s torn-up shoulders like they were, he didn’t know…involved on some deep level, or like he actually gave a crap. He and Malik had made their expectations for the arrangement clear; it was meant to be a fun thing, something that was quick, pleasurable, and easily forgotten about afterwards. Bakura had a fairly ambiguous relationship to his own purpose in life already, and he certainly didn’t need some bizarre wrench being thrown into his usual everyday routine of mobile games and naps.

Truthfully, it disturbed him. Bakura wasn’t sure why, and that fact made him feel antsy. As hard as he had been trying to live out the past several days in the same way he always had, lazing around and doing small chores when asked, he couldn’t deny the lingering memories he had of touching that soft hair at the back of the Egyptian’s bronze neck, or looking into the big, crystal-clear lavender eyes that so often peered back at him with infuriating self-assuredness. Malik had begun showing a different side of himself lately, though, one that seemed quieter, more introspective and gentle- Again, why the fuck should Bakura care? He had never asked to be brought back to this plane, in the first place.

His phone buzzed again. Sighing with exasperation, Bakura slowly slid upwards underneath the covers and cast a glance over to the alarm clock on his nightstand next to the sphinx figurine. 5:08AM. What the hell was Malik doing, texting him at such an ungodly hour?

Groggy, deciding spur-of-the-moment that it might be easier to finally read the text messages if he was tired and not completely alert, he flipped his phone over from where it sat on the bed beside him and tapped into the thread, eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the bright light of the screen.

**Malibu Barbie**

_did you get home?_

_?_

_sorry if u got food poisoning from that sushi place_

_hey bakura_

_…did u die??_

_i’m stuck in traffic on that stupid bridge rn_

_hellooooo_

_srsly if u died im gonna feel like shit :(_

_?!?_

_u little bitch_

_u suck_

The chain of messages, spread out over the past seven days, made Bakura feel something weird and tight deep inside his chest. He was already appalled with his own behavior- why the fuck had he even decided to attempt the ‘friends with benefits’ thing with someone he didn’t even really consider a friend, anyways? On some level, he had kind of been hoping that Malik’s supposed impermanence in Domino could make for a clean break, but clearly this whole interaction was somehow opening a disturbing can of worms in his psyche.

Eyeing the last message, Bakura grit his teeth and flipped over completely onto his front, pressing his thumbs lazily across the keypad while he remembered their last encounter and what had occurred.

_You swallow._

Despite his sour mood, the white-haired man found himself smiling when another message came right in, as though the sender had been waiting for his reply.

_hey asshole!!_

Had Malik really wanted to talk with him that badly?

_Way to blow up my phone._

_Are you that thirsty?_

_oh fuck u_

_ur probably thirsty after puking all over my bathroom_

Bakura was surprised by his own lack of sensitivity to that comment. Instead, he sat up and hunched over against the headboard, batwings perking slightly.

_I’ll make you puke next time if you want._

_Or gag, at the very least._

_ok but way to ignore me for like a month_

_It’s been a week, Malik._

_whatever_

_> :(_

The laugh at the back of his throat startled him. On some level, it really was easier to interact with the blonde than it was even with Ryou, right now.

_So what did you want?_

_ur coming to my party right?_

_tonight_

Bakura looked at the little bat emoji that popped up on the screen. A glance at the upper bar of his phone told him that it was already October 31st, which would mean-

_Halloween?_

_yea... Ryou said he’s coming, he didn’t tell you?_

He winced, aware he had been sleeping the days away and that Ryou’s work schedule had been keeping their daytime conversations pretty short.

_Not yet._

_I’m not dressing up in some stupid costume._

_lol no worries_

_ur normal look is scary enough as-is_

_^__^_

Rolling his eyes, Bakura considered what he was being offered. Certainly, he had zero interest in making small talk with Yugi or any of that particular group. However, maybe it would be like the bowling excursion, where he’d be able to steal off with Malik instead while the group of idiots did their thing together. If he were being completely transparent, aside from the humiliation he was currently feeling regarding looking so ridiculously weak in front of the Egyptian, well…It wasn’t like he didn’t like being around him. They were sexual partners, after all, and it was hard to pass up an opportunity to be physically close with someone you were that attracted to.

Also, if Ryou was going, Bakura didn’t intend to let him sneak off with that Jonouchi bastard without giving that guy at least another dirty look.

_I’ll think about it._

Bakura plugged his phone into its charger and got up, lazily making his bed and heading into the bathroom for a hot shower to take his mind off things. As the water ran down over his pale legs and stomach, he couldn’t help but remember a similarly warm-mouth against his most sensitive part, slipping around his base and nuzzling along the shaft-

His cock twitched against his leg and he pressed his lips to his arm, glaring at the shower wall. Malik had no business being that hot.

While he tried to avoid touching the area of his body that wanted it the most, Bakura watched the suds that ran down his forearms. He didn’t know that he could go through with it, voluntarily show up at a party with all those idiots milling around. While he hated to admit it to himself, feelings of exhaustion were beginning to get to him. The past week had been filled by partially-sleepless nights where he laid awake in bed, hesitant to close his eyes lest he see the smoke, and the flames, and hear the cries and screams. It was rather unsettling, not just the fact that the dreams were becoming more frequent and vivid, but that he was so viscerally bothered by them. Bakura had been in much darker places before. He knew what the screams of the tortured sounded like- So what if he remembered his shitty and very human past? What did it matter?

Eventually, he dried himself off and threw on a pair of grey jeans and a dark green t-shirt, pausing when he found one hand buried in the burgundy sleeve of the hoodie he had ended up with unintentionally. He hesitated, and then shrugged the stolen garment on over his upper body, pulling open his bedroom door to head into the kitchen. Malik probably wouldn’t miss it, anyways.

Halfway into a cinnamon roll he had heated up in the microwave, Bakura had the urge to take a leak. Hoisting up off the couch, he turned and paused when he nearly stepped directly into his roommate, who was watching him with eyes the size of onigiri.

“…Did you sleep?” Ryou murmured, drowned in a too-large nightshirt. Bakura hummed in assent, licking some icing from his thumb.

“Yeah. Just got up.”

“Oh.” Blinking, Ryou smiled softly at him. Bakura tried not to look him in the face.

“Working early?”

“It’s my day off,” his light reminded him and made his way over and into the kitchen, and Bakura heard him open the door to the fridge. “I wanted to get some cleaning done. Do you want a ham and cheese sandwich, too?”

Saying no to Ryou’s cooking was impossible for several reasons. Bakura walked over to the small dining table and took a seat with a grunt, brushing some errant hairs out of his eyes.

When the food was plated and in front of him, Bakura took a couple of seconds just to look at it, observing the pink slices of ham and how they peeked out from the crisped edges…

“What’s wrong?”

He glanced up at Ryou, surprised to see the concern in his expression. Immediately embarrassed, he shook his head and pulled a corner of his sandwich off the rest of it.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” His roommate’s voice was soft, as though he didn’t want to offend him, and something began to coil tightly inside of Bakura. Why was Ryou always so timid? So kind? Didn’t he know who Bakura was, after so many years? Didn’t he know what he’d done to him, how he took advantage even now, how useless and purposeless he had become-

“Malik’s having a Halloween Party tonight,” Ryou continued gently, snapping him momentarily out of the ache he felt behind his eyes and at the back of his tongue. “He asked me to tell you. I think everyone’s coming.”

The tone of Ryou’s voice sounded decidedly hopeful, as though he didn’t expect a positive response, but very much wanted one. Another ache pulsed in Bakura’s face and he sniffed, taking a large bite to give himself a moment to decide.

“…You dressing up?” was the best filibuster he could come up with. Ryou smiled at his response, seeming bashful as he often did lately.

“Well, I got some white makeup. I was thinking I could wear all white and go as a ghost.”

Bakura snorted. Ryou would easily be the least frightening ghost he could imagine.

Did he really dare put himself into this situation?

“I’ll come along,” he sealed his fate and stuffed the last portion into his mouth, licking some butter from his lower lip. “Should probably beat that bastard Malik in Duel Monsters again, anyways.”

It was a lame excuse, and Bakura was sure that Ryou would see through it on some level, though to what degree he wasn't certain. The knowledge that Malik had contacted Ryou regarding him was somewhat unnerving. Exactly how much did Ryou know? It was Malik, though, and that guy could probably keep a secret better than anyone, so maybe…

“That’s great! I was thinking we could leave around six,” Ryou replied in what sounded like relief, taking their empty plates and walking back into the kitchen to load them into the dishwasher. “I told Malik I would make some brownies to bring. Could you run to the store for me in a little bit while I scrub out the oven?”

If nothing else, Bakura supposed he was useful for errands.

\--

“Wow, there’s nowhere to park,” Ryou spoke to himself as he looked out the front window, wheeling the car around the block towards their destination with a wide-eyed gaze.

Bakura looked up from his phone, seeing the line of cars along the curb. As expected, the whole gang plus more was probably showing up. Maybe that was a good thing, since he intended to steal off without being noticed. A cursory glance at the front of the house showed him the glowing strands of purple and orange lights that sparkled in the darkness around the doorways and the two front windows, undoubtedly to add to the atmosphere. He had never really understood the point of Halloween. Most people didn’t seem to enjoy being scared, but it was probably just an excuse to party and eat special food, like most holidays seemed to be.

His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket, reading the preview that popped up on screen.

**Malibu Barbie**

_heyy did u two get lost?_

He scoffed.

_You have too many johns over._

_There’s no parking._

Malik’s prompt response made him chuckle as Ryou parallel parked into an open spot.

_omg rude_

_i’ll have u know i’m more selective than that_

_;)_

Bakura’s stomach clenched pleasantly, and he shoved the phone back into his jeans. When the car stopped, he opened the passenger’s side door and hoisted himself out onto the sidewalk, waiting for Ryou to walk ahead of him. His roommate’s white sheet billowed behind him in the dimness of the evening, but he found his eyes drawn to a weird and shiny-looking surface located against the façade of the house near the car-port area. His gaze traced the two wheels as they approached, surprised to make out the leather seat and shiny round mirrors at the sides of the handlebars.

Ryou rang the doorbell, and the door opened up to show positively the last person Bakura wanted to see.

“Hey!!” Jonouchi greeted happily, some kind of stupid mask hanging by its strap from one side of his face. Bakura could smell the scent of something cooking from where they stood in the open doorway. Ryou’s brown eyes widened against his painted face.

“Jonouchi, hi!” he replied softly and approached, leaving Bakura to trail in behind him with the tray of homemade brownies in his arms. The warm air of the house enveloped him, and he could hear chatter from down the hall in what he already knew to be the living room, but the pleasant and genial atmosphere wasn’t doing anything for his nerves. Why had he agreed to this, again?

“You made it,” came a familiar voice. Bakura turned, watching Malik making his way quickly down the staircase. The Egyptian approached and wrapped Ryou into a firm embrace, and Bakura noticed the plastic headband tucked over his blonde locks with the two shiny, red little devil horns on top.

“Oh my gosh, you look so good!” Malik crooned, smiling brightly and taking Ryou’s hands. Ryou just smiled bashfully in return, standing back closer towards his boyfriend.

“You think? Ah, I just thought it would be an easy costume.”

Bakura stopped paying attention to the conversation for a few moments, observing Malik, whose appearance was mostly unchanged from normal, aside from the headband. It was immediately evident, too, that he wasn’t exactly dressed for the cold weather outside, and had chosen for some godforsaken reason to waltz down the stairs in a red tank top and some black short shorts. When he spoke, Bakura noticed the two fake, small fang teeth that were attached to his canines, and was immediately torn between whether his first order of business should be making fun of him, or pinning him up against the nearest wall.

Seriously, was there a reason Malik had to look this attractive at the most inconvenient of times?

“C’mon, I’ll make you a burger! Yugi’s gonna be here-”

Ryou was quickly spirited away by his partner, leaving Bakura’s attention fully on Malik. His lavender eyes were wide, and the look exchanged between them in the momentary privacy felt knowing.

Malik smirked, and Bakura noticed that his lips were particularly shiny.

“I’m glad you came.”

It was as innocent a statement as any, or it would have been, had it come from anyone else. Bakura felt a tingle run up his spine and he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nice costume,” he replied sarcastically. “If you were going for something intimidating, I think you’ve missed the mark.”

Malik breathed out a laugh, taking a step forward around the end of the banister. “I’ve never intimidated anyone, Bakura.”

They grinned at one another knowingly, and it occurred to Bakura that he really didn’t know anyone else he could talk to like this, anyone who had fallen into a dark part of themselves and had enjoyed the havoc it had wreaked, at least a little. Most people walked around in their lives, he thought, assuming their own goodness and acting as though it was the only force driving their actions in the world. It was refreshing to interact with someone who had a sense for their own shadow. Maybe that was what made Malik so damn appealing to be around.

“There’s a motorcycle out front,” he recalled, suddenly curious and leaning against the doorway that led into the sitting room. “Is it yours?”

“Oh! I rented it so I could do errands,” the blonde replied, and the way his face lit up made Bakura lose his breath for a couple of seconds. “Want to go on a ride later?”

The connotations of that weren’t lost on him, and yet, despite the tingling between his legs that resulted, the white-haired male found himself observing the thick lashes and feathered blonde bangs.

“It’s too damn cold out,” Bakura sniffed once he found his voice, a little disturbed by his own reactions. He was just there to get some, he reminded himself. Of course Malik was attractive. That wasn’t new.

Malik just smiled back. “Well, come get some food, at least. We’re still waiting on a few people.”

The next half hour or so passed uneventfully. Bakura decided to hang out near the kitchen door with a paper plate in his hands, helping himself to hotdogs and finger sandwiches from the dining-room table and smelling the grill smoke that came in from outside every time Jonouchi or Rishid went in or out through the sliding glass door. He took some time observing the décor- there were little orange gift-bags with pumpkin and ghost faces set next to the food, as well as a large dish of wrapped candies. The large-screen TV in the sitting room was also on, and he watched Otogi, dressed as a nine-tailed fox with just some attached tails and ears, scroll through the channels in search of Halloween music.

It was corny, obviously, but as a few more people began to come in through the front door, it was clear that the festivities were welcomed. Ryou walked back into the room from the hallway with Yugi in tow, and Bakura waved noncommittally before focusing back on the chocolate skull he was unwrapping.

“Malik, should we take the cheesecake out?” he overheard Isis inquiring, and looked over at the siblings who were rounding the corner, observing the small black bat-shaped earrings that hung from her earlobes. Malik perked visibly at the reminder.

“Oh! I’ll take care of it.”

The blonde made his way into the kitchen, spotting Bakura where he stood as he pulled open the freezer and withdrew the wrapped dessert. They locked eyes for a few moments as Malik set the pastry down on the kitchen island, taking out a large knife from a drawer close to the sink and slicing into the plastic wrap.

“Do you like chocolate?” he asked. “It needs a little time to thaw.”

Bakura swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, various appetites getting further stirred just from their proximity to one another.

“I think we both know I’m not here for cake.”

“Aw. I made it myself, and everything.”

Malik was leaning in his direction, head tilted slightly and eyes taunting, and Bakura had to staunch down the sudden and bizarre urge to grab his face between his fingers and kiss any further words out of his throat. Reaching, he settled instead of snatching the blonde by the wrist and tugging him towards the stairwell, surprised to feel the taller male following behind him without complaint.

The next few seconds that followed were like something out of a dream, what with the stumbling of their feet up the steps and the way he could already feel the heat of Malik’s arm pulsing all the way through his hand. Bakura didn’t think much- not when the bedroom door closed, or when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He wasn’t thinking when he grabbed for Malik’s shoulders, using the little leverage he still had to shove him back into a seated position on the comforter. His mouth watered as he leaned in to press his tongue against the soft and lush brown lips, and felt Malik's hand press between them to pop the white plastic away from his canine teeth.

Bakura realized he could smell the lotus blossom when he dug both hands into that thick hair and pulled, and the moan he felt against his jaw made Bakura’s hands tremble. Malik looked up, eyes wide and startled-seeming as he gazed back at him in silence. Exhaling, Bakura just reached up to wipe his mouth with his forearm, deciding to lean into his current advantage with a slow smirk.

“Oh, come now- Don't act so shy. You’ve been texting me for days.”

The Egyptian half-smiled, looking slightly bashful even as his lips quirked knowingly.

“Not going to ask for permission to destroy my body, this time?”

Bakura blinked, only then recalling the last time he’d said those words back on the Battle City Blimp, with Malik’s ghostly figure hovering at his side. He scoffed.

“That loss was your fault. Don’t even joke about that.”

“It was your fault. You play too aggressively,” the blonde countered, though his voice came out in a soft and teasing lilt that Bakura wanted to drink right out of the air. The white-haired male grit his teeth, not wanting to be reminded of his failings at a time when his own control was, as he saw it, a necessity.

“I’ll show you ‘aggressive’.”

When they kissed again, it was more of a shove than a press- Bakura could feel his teeth grind a little against Malik’s as their tongues met, slippery and hot. His body tensed, area between his legs tingling and pulsing as he grabbed for Malik’s wrists, pressing his arms back against the bed as he ravaged the Egyptian’s mouth. Malik didn’t resist him, merely arching his back a little to close the distance between their chests.

Malik was groaning softly against him, and Bakura felt the bare legs wrap around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back. The pressure did something carnal to him, causing his cock to twitch in his jeans, his heart to pulse in the base of his throat.

“Nnnh,” Bakura groaned, wondering why he felt quite so warm, why he wanted to get so close and hold on so tight. He was just there to get his rocks off… but the kissing was kinda nice, too. Malik pulled back, presumably to take the large breath he sucked in. Bakura looked back at him with a smug smile.

“Aren’t you the male heir to your family?” he breathed out, voice a deep rasp as he reached down with a daring hand and squeezed Malik’s ass through the shorts. “What would your father say, if he saw you like this?”

“I’m sure he’s cursing me from the Underworld at this very moment,” Malik replied softly, sinking one warm hand into the white locks. “I have another sixty years in me before I have to confront that.”

Despite his amusement, Bakura realized he wasn’t really listening, instead looking into the glossy and shimmery purple eyes.

“You think you’re so sneaky,” he murmured eventually, trying not to let himself forget the point of the situation. “Wearing a fucking outfit like that. I bet you wanted me to get hard in front of all those idiots.”

Bakura figured that perhaps he shouldn’t have attempted any…erotic talk, but the words poured out of him before he could stop them. Malik sighed attractively, and he felt his ego surge.

“Did it work?” the blonde whispered. Feeling like he was on a high, Bakura snatched one of the golden hands and pressed it between his legs, growling against his soft locks.

“Feel for yourself.”

Their mouths met again. The pale man could feel his partner tugging in his hair, fingers tight against his scalp as he tilted his head to the side to better slot their lips together. Though he fought to dominate the kiss, keeping the upper hand with rough tongue-presses, Bakura felt as though something unsettling was making a home in his chest. Something demanded that he be closer, that he grip tighter, that he run his hand along the bronze temple and slender throat. His pants were feeling uncomfortably tight as well, though, as Malik palmed his most personal area, so he brought his own hand down to his fly instead, fumbling around.

Malik huffed out a laugh above him, still holding onto Bakura around his neck. “You seem impatient.”

“You’re one to talk.”

The blonde’s response was physical in a way that made Bakura freeze on the spot. Malik shifted backwards gracefully, leaning gently back against the stack of bed pillows, and reached down with one hand to pull his black shorts easily down, bringing his delicate feet together and kicking the shorts off one foot with a quick flick of the ankle. Bakura just stared at the small and hairless shaft that curved up at him between the smooth brown thighs, momentarily at a loss for words when he met the sparkly and lidded lavender gaze.

So they were really…doing this…

Thankfully, Malik kissed him, so Bakura didn’t have to think of something to say. His one pale hand dug into the crimson fabric of Malik’s remaining shirt while the other snaked around his waist, cupping around the meat of his lush hip with a knowing lightness as he licked from his mouth to his ear, breathing into it.

“How do you want it? On your front?”

Both of them shivered, hot breath settling between their faces. Bakura could feel Malik shake his head against the side of his face, and the voice that left him was soft, gentler and less certain than the bold striptease a few moments earlier would have led him to expect.

“I-I’ll ride you.”

It took literally everything Bakura had not to come in his pants. Growling through his teeth, aroused beyond anything he had ever felt in his waking life, he tore at his zipper and forced his pants and undergarments off with a few kicks and shoves of his legs and feet, using the arm still around Malik to pull him into his lap. That warm, lush backside kissed the tops of his thighs and he groaned, sinking his teeth into the smooth shoulder and sucking a bruise into his flesh while the blonde whimpered and gasped.

“Here.” Bakura didn’t have time to process what he had said before a familiar floral scent met his nose again, and he heard the sounds of flesh rubbing against flesh. Shifting, he placed his chin against Malik’s throat and looked down along his still-bruised spine, watching in lidded-eyed amazement as Malik pressed his own fingers down along the small of his back, between his buttocks, stroking the spot-

The sight of the balm container a few inches away on the sheets made his mouth go dry. Without really thinking, Bakura reached out, pulling Malik’s hand away from himself as he dipped his own fingers into the jar, replacing that slim hand with his own.

Okay, so it was possible that Bakura had touched himself in that area before sexually a time or two, so it wasn’t like he had no experience with what it could feel like, but touching someone else, especially Malik… He stayed light as he circled his fingers around the tight entrance, feeling it twitch and squeeze. Again, he grit his teeth and told his cock to be patient as he pressed the tip of his middle finger there, something in the back of his brain telling him that this was too intimate, that this was meant to be something fast and sordid, not slow and gentle-

Malik groaned happily against his ear, so he pressed in a little further and tried to focus on stroking his insides, curling his finger against the wet heat.

“Bakura.” The pleasant ethnic lilt of Malik’s accent tingled in Bakura’s ears, and for one inexplicable moment, all he wanted to hear was this guy saying his name in that voice over, and over, and over-

“Just put it in, already,” the blonde continued, shifting against Bakura’s firm grasp. “I’ll adjust.”

He couldn’t stop himself. Slowly, he withdrew his finger and instead gripped himself by the base, sucking another mark into Malik’s chest this time as he guided his length up to meet the slippery entrance. He licked over the dark nipple, pebbled and small against his cheek, and felt Malik seat himself down slowly over his length, suffocatingly and deliciously tight.

Had Malik done this type of thing with other guys? How many?

As he shifted, Bakura found himself still holding Malik with one arm around his waist. He felt the slippery insides flutter against him, and moaned audibly against the other’s chest. His heart was beating in his ears, but he still heard Malik’s breathy command against his hair and forehead.

“Move, idiot.”

Hands tugged in his hair again, and Bakura felt like he had to oblige.

\--


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for tuning in again. Things are heating up a little (in several ways). I hope you enjoy this installment!
> 
> Note: Things do get a bit dark here.

\--

This really wasn’t what Bakura had imagined it would be.

Malik pressed up insistently against him, chest to chest, and Bakura’s fingers spread around his palms to feel the warm skin of his hips. No, he had dreamt about this being something fast and impersonal. Forcing himself roughly against his backside as he pressed him into the mattress, perhaps, while tugging on that silky blonde hair with one hand and slapping his round backside with the other.

Instead, Bakura found his hands migrating of their own accord, grasping hold at the sides of Malik’s waist. His fingertips grazed the scarring and he hesitated, looking up into the lidded purple gaze with instinctive apology.

“It doesn’t hurt,” the blonde reassured, quiet voice enough to send tingles up and down the back of Bakura’s neck. Bakura swallowed, cock pulsing where he had pressed it deep inside.

He couldn’t think. It was all he could do just to breathe, and feel the way Malik’s breath was tickling his ear.

He wanted to move. Swallowing hard, Bakura shifted back into a position similar to his last, one arm wrapping itself around Malik’s waist to resituate him. Malik moved his hips forward knowledgeably, squeezing himself around Bakura’s cock and groaning as he pressed his fingernails into the pale shoulders.

The quick sting in Bakura’s skin only spurred him forwards. Shuddering, pleasure starting to unfold in his lower stomach, he pressed his knees into the duvet and knocked his partner backwards lightly into the stack of pillows at the head of the bed, slowly pulling his hips away before giving his first full shunt inside.

Fuck.

Malik’s shaky sigh fanned out over his shoulder. Bakura felt like his brain had been shut off completely, eyes only able to observe, body only able to feel, and to move. There was something like a ghost of a thought when he looked down over Malik’s chest and bicep, observing the way his own pale arm crossed around his dark ribs and side, like the last vestiges of night settling under the rise of a morning sun.

“Bakura,” Malik groaned, and the last vestiges of Bakura’s restraint dropped free. His muscles felt weightless as he pressed back into him harder, feeling the head of his cock catch against that tight ring. Blinded by instinct, he opened his mouth and pressed his tongue haphazardly between Malik’s soft lips, shuddering as he shunted himself back in deeper.

His rhythm was shaky at first, legs shifting alongside Malik’s hot thighs as he tried to settle in as close as possible while still having room to move. With each push, he could feel Malik hum against his mouth, sometimes sighing, other times groaning and whimpering. Bakura tensed, needing to hear more, pulling out to the tip and then surging forwards in a harsh thrust.

The pleasure that burst up through his loins must have been mutual. Malik gripped hard into his shoulders, almost certainly breaking the skin with his short nails. Bakura didn’t care- his eyes rolled back into his head and he sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth, hissing against Malik’s chin.

Were they still kissing…?

“Ah-“ The Egyptian was gasping beneath him, and Bakura felt a set of heels pressing into the small of his back. He sucked onto Malik’s tongue as he hammered back inside, one hand reaching over to grab and force his partner’s wrist into the bedding.

He wanted to hear his voice. What good was he if he couldn’t make him scream?

Thighs twitching with exertion, Bakura pressed up closer and moved his mouth down into the crook of Malik’s neck and shoulder, one arm around him still as the other held his lover’s wrist down against the sheet. He sucked a wet bite into the brown flesh as he surged up into him, feeling the excruciatingly hot squeeze.

“Yes!”

It wasn’t like he hadn’t anticipated that Malik might be vocal in bed, but every noise he made Bakura’s nerves buzz. The gasps and groans were like music to his ears. Whether anyone below could hear, he didn’t know, and quite frankly, he couldn’t have cared less. His cock pulsed as he fucked in and out of him, pressing up as deep as he could, feeling Malik’s toes curl against his hip when he seemed to hit at a particular spot. He groaned low in his chest, gaze unfocused. It felt like heaven, pumping himself all the way up into Malik’s guts, hearing him cry out and feeling him clamping down hard like he wanted to keep him inside.

Bakura sat up a little when he felt his orgasm approach him, taking a few measured breaths as he slowed his movements. He couldn’t yet. He’d make a fucking fool of himself if he came first, not to mention the fact that he’d be leaving Malik unsatisfied. The uncharacteristic nature of that thought didn’t occur to him when his eyes opened and he saw the beguiling gaze fluttering back at him, confusion obvious in the blonde’s flushed expression. The purple-red blush across Malik’s dark cheeks sent a strange ache panging through Bakura’s chest.

“Don’t stop,” the Egyptian complained with a groan, digging his right heel into the back of Bakura’s thigh. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The fact that Bakura didn’t completely fall apart upon hearing that probably could have been counted as some sort of miracle.

“Shit,” he breathed without thinking as he surged back up between Malik’s soft thighs. His eyes wandered along the gleaming chest and belly, down further, hand moving seemingly of its own accord to run eagerly along the hairless skin. Bakura shivered when he got another good look at his cock, small and curved upwards towards him, with a shiny pink tip that gleamed invitinglty in the low light. Reaching mindlessly, he gripped it by the base and sucked his mouth over one of Malik’s shiny nipples, stroking along the crease of the head with his thumb.

The reaction was instant. Malik jerked upwards against him, tightening around the base of his cock while the pale man forced in and out of him with increased vigor. Bakura scraped against the soft nub with his teeth, inhaling harshly, trying to last just a little longer-

His partner squeezed around him and keened, and Bakura’s fingers felt slippery, suddenly. Face flushing a vibrant pink, he pressed his nose back into Malik’s throat and pushed himself inside just one final time, feeling his balls tense as all of the tension just let go.

Shit, he hadn’t even worn a-

“NNH!”

Pleasure crashed over him in a hot wave. Bakura collapsed, gasping for breath and feeling his abdomen collide into warm flesh, vaguely aware of the slip between their stomachs. Stars began to fizzle out at the edges of his vision, and he just breathed for a few long moments, smelling the familiar floral scent he had come to know so well. Something pulsed up against his chest, and it took him a second to recognize it as Malik’s heartbeat, fast and hard, and…

Whoa.

Swallowing in his dry throat, Bakura reached out with shaky arms and pressed his hands into the mattress, sitting up. Long white hair fell in a tousled mess around his face and shoulders as he peered down at his companion’s visage, equally dazed-eyed and flushed with blood.

Had they seriously just done that?

“Hah….not bad.”

The teasing tone in Malik’s voice was obvious. The blonde smiled up at him, showing his white, straight teeth and gazing through the muss of light bangs that stuck to his forehead and temples. Something strange happened inside of Bakura, clenching and then blooming outwards in a disturbing, tingling warmth.

“No shit,” Bakura finally found his voice in a gloat, sitting back and raising an eyebrow. He was still inside. As awkward as it should’ve been, he just scoffed and grinned to the side in amusement, wondering why Malik’s happy expression seemed so infectious. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he turned a little towards him and froze immediately with a loud thump and crash echoed upwards through the house and down the hallway, watching the bedroom door shake slightly on its hinges.

The pair stiffened, hearing shouts and laughter rising up from downstairs. Obviously startled, Malik frowned and slowly shifted backwards, wincing when Bakura’s length slipped free of him softly.

“I guess I shouldn’t have left that group unsupervised,” the blonde stated, leaving Bakura to just stare at the white fluid coating his cock and wonder why Malik seemed completely unbothered. The Egyptian turned to face him, looking slightly bashful.

“Do you mind checking on that? I should probably get cleaned up...”

Like he didn’t also have to, Bakura realized with a grimace, but he slipped off the bed and grabbed for a tissue from the box on the bedside table. His heart was still pounding in his ears as he wiped himself haphazardly, stepping back into his underwear and jeans and slowly making his way back over to the door.

He and Malik had seriously done it.

Combing his fingers through his long hair, he turned to see where his partner had gone to, noticing the closed bathroom door and the light that shone from under it, before opening the bedroom door and heading to the top of the stairs. He walked down slowly to the bottom step and peered around the corner into the living room area, observing the scene there of Honda and Otogi collapsed on the carpet, each clutching onto one side of the fallen SmartTV that had been sitting on the console. There were a couple of spilled beers on the ottoman, and Anzu, who had apparently arrived at some point after the initial group, was scolding the two with her hands on her hips while Honda laughed like it was the funniest event of his entire life. Yugi sat on the sofa with a concerned expression, holding an iced pumpkin-shaped cookie. Halloween music was still playing through whatever speakers were still connected, adding a thumping beat to the peals of laughter and shouts of annoyance.

Fucking drunken idiots. Snorting, Bakura turned back around with the intention of scaling the staircase again when he heard something soft, almost indiscernible given the noise still emanating from the other room. He paused, wondering whether he had imagined it, when he heard it again. The whispery noises drew his eyes around the other corner, and he slowly approached the edge of the staircase, peering down over the banister into the kitchen area to see two familiar figures seated there on barstools, near the more dimly-lit edge of the kitchen island.

“We should make sure they’re okay,” Ryou was protesting in a particularly soft voice, seated in the lap of the familiar blonde who had him pressed up close with one hand on either of Ryou’s hips.

“C’mon, they’re all laughing in there,” Jonouchi replied, leaning in to press his tongue visibly between Ryou’s painted lips.

Bakura felt frozen in his shadowed vantage point, able only to watch the kiss as it progressed. His stomach dropped, and then clenched, feeling as though it were suddenly full of ice. What gave that bastard the right-

“Mh,” Ryou breathed and readjusted himself in Jonouchi’s grasp, leaning into his boyfriend with enthusiasm. While the taller man grabbed at his hips, Ryou looped his thin arms around his neck and used the leverage to pull himself closer, white sheet from his costume draping itself around Jonouchi’s back and shoulders.

No, Bakura had to remind himself, that guy wasn’t even taking advantage. Ryou was happy about it.

He couldn’t look away. Bakura remembered the cute outfit Ryou had worn a few weeks back before sneaking out of the house to meet Jonouchi for bubble tea. He recalled the way Jonouchi had leaned over him at their dining room table that one morning, showing him cards from some new game, and the way those brown eyes had gazed back at him from down the hall that night he had returned home with bile still stinging at the back of his tongue. Bakura didn’t know exactly when this had started, but it obviously wasn’t a fluke- Ryou, the kid who hadn’t had a friend to speak of for years, was deeply involved with this idiot, to the point that he was constantly making time for him, secretly going off to be with him in private…

The pale man took a step backwards, shoulders tense. For whatever reason, Malik’s sweet visage presented itself in his mind, and he shook his head to try to loosen it from his skull. In a couple of months, his old rival would be out of Japan and back to his normal life, and Bakura would be alone.

Bakura’s palms began to sweat as he turned away, looking back up the staircase, and then back over to his other half, and his chosen lover. Something sparked inside him, and his toes curled on the carpet- He didn’t want to be there anymore, listening to these losers laughing and watching Jonouchi stick his tongue down Ryou’s throat. He didn’t even want to go back up the stairs and see Malik, who undoubtedly had gotten what he had wanted from him that night already and was probably anxious to get back to the party. His feet, though, told him to walk, so, after a moment of weighing his options, Bakura took back off down the steps and turned to make his way into the living room, walking quickly around the edge of the room past the rowdy group and making a beeline for the front door.

“Hey, Bakura?”

He stiffened with one hand on the knob, turning and looking into the wide purple eyes that gazed back at him from near the coffee table. His gaze moved, though, immediately, at the sight of a familiar flicker. The fireplace, he noticed for the first time, had been lit, and the lights that emanated from it were a deep orange, illuminating the side of the sofa and the table there. The coals glowed at the base with a deep black and blue.

Aware of the other eyes that stared at him, Bakura ignored them and chose instead to look back at the Pharaoh’s past host, feeling initial fear, and then a slow, and cold resignation, pass down through his throat and into his belly.

“What?” he asked, not really realizing how quiet his own voice came out.

“Where are you going?” Yugi asked, tone hesitant, like he was afraid to ask. Face placid, Bakura turned and pulled the front door open without a second thought, not even really phased by the blast of cold air that rushed in over his face and bare arms.

“To look at some water,” he decided on the spot, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind him.

His feet moved him forward, seemingly of their own accord, while Bakura watched the images that passed in and out of his mind, burned into the backs of his eyes. Why hadn’t it been obvious to him before? Ryou was always gone lately, spending time with that blonde bastard or at work with Yugi. No longer was he the bullied kid at school, or the sad, broken orphan with no family, the boy that had sat in the sandbox and just prayed to have a single friend. After all those years, Ryou had had his deepest wish come true.

Bakura’s eyes burned as he crossed the street, looking down at his hands, and the way they shook in the cold air. He continued walking slowly, approaching his destination with a quiet assuredness. It was for the best, really, he thought to himself. Perhaps it really was true that good people had their good karma come back to them, even if that meant that he was completely, and royally fucked forever. His breath began to come to him deeper, and his lungs felt like ice as he strode through the quiet streets, using the streetlamps to guide his way. Vision blurred, he continued to make his way West, heading through a couple of crosswalks, still able to hear the crackles and spits of the flames.

He could almost taste the smoke in the back of his throat when he finally slowed his pace, hearing the rush of the wind that whipped past his ears through his hair and along his bare throat. His feet brought him past the gas station, past the row of small buildings, past the short guardrail, and then up to the grassy edge of the cliff that led down to the sea. The scent of salty air hit him as he looked up, first to the starry sky, and then back down to where he stood, at the edge of the bridge across the water, observing the sparkling lights of houses and buildings the hundreds of feet across.

Numb, Bakura walked up to the brick wall at the north-most edge of the bridge entrance, placing his hands atop it and hoisting himself up slowly.

When he settled down into a seated pose, Bakura felt the concrete biting into the backs of his thighs through his pants. The soles of his feet stung, feeling red and sore, but he didn’t bother to move, sitting slumped and staring down into the rushing water of the broad sea beneath. The smell of lotus passed through the back of his throat, and he felt the tears begin spill over.

Why?

In his ears, there was the sound of an occasional car passing by along the bridge, accompanied by the gentle breeze that whistled through the night sky. Bakura could barely see anything past the illumination of the tall streetlight to his left- There was the grass beneath him, and then the quick drop at least fifty feet down to the large boulders that lined the perimeter of the water, beneath which a dark torrent rushed past, spitting up enough cold air and vapor that his raw feet could feel it even from so far below. The roar of the water beneath combined in his mind with the roar of the fire, first the contained little thing at the party, then the large, screaming, smoking mass that had filled the sky in his memories nearly every night, for so many nights, decorated by shrieks and screams of agony and terror.

Bakura closed his eyes. He felt like he could remember more, when he thought about it…His parents’ hooded figures as they were dragged down the stone steps, thrashing and yanked by their arms. He could remember the rush of water, too, among the sounds of breaking glass and crying- the sound of that river that had been so close, the Nile, and the rush of the wind through its reeds. Again, he felt like he could smell the lotus blossoms that had undoubtedly floated along the surface, and probably still did, though he had no doubt he would never live to know.

“Tch…Heh..” A miserable laugh welled itself up within Bakura’s chest. He opened his eyes, once again gazing down into the black abyss. No, he wasn’t Zorc, but he had never taken less comfort in that fact. Zorc, at the very least, had taken these terrible feelings of horror, and misery, and made him something powerful, something ruthless. Bakura had never felt less powerful, less ruthless than he did in that moment. He was nothing- not even capable of happiness, not even capable of accepting the existence of joy, or hope, or even the desire to live.

_“Some of us have remorse for the things we’ve done.”_

Malik’s accusation from months prior echoed in his ears. If only he knew…

Ryou would be fine. He had literally been clinging onto that guy like a drowning person would cling to a lifejacket. His light was cared for, and that was really all that mattered. For Bakura, there was really only the sudden and crushing torrential feeling that he hadn’t been…loved in millennia, and probably would never be loved, given the atrocities he had committed and the advantages he continued to take. The fear wasn’t a familiar feeling, nor was it welcomed- he had seen the darkest depths of the shadows, lived within their embrace, and brandished their sharpest corners against everyone and anyone who had stood in his path. Now, with his consciousness planted firmly within this pitiful shell, there was no warmth in the shadows- only the cold blackness within that threatened to eat him up from the inside, and that he would have welcomed, so long as it finished him off to the final hair and bone.

The tears began to run down Bakura’s throat, hot compared to the bursts of cold air that surrounded his face and lips. Something hurt in his lungs- it made him not want to breathe, but he gasped anyways, arms shaking at his sides, fingers grasping into the rough edges of the brick. Why did he have to be such a waste of air?

His chest ached, and that familiar pain passed itself over into his arm. Bakura reached up to clutch his bicep, feeling that deep, sharp scar that tingled and ached, recalling the thrust of the blade. The marks were with Ryou, too, of course, but they had been on Bakura since the day he had returned- reminders, he supposed, so he never could quite stop feeling like such a useless yet evil being while he was still alive on this Earth. It was undoubtedly what he deserved. Maybe it really was true that people got what they were supposed to, in the end. Ryou had everything he had ever wanted, and the Pharaoh had finally gotten to move on. Even Malik had been freed from that spirit, returned to his family, given the freedom to travel, allowed access to the outside world…

The rushing water echoed in his head, and he slowly hoisted himself up further, pressing his heels into the top row of bricks and standing up atop the wall. He could feel the wind beating through his clothes as he stood, gazing down silently into the dark torrents beneath.

While he stood, he started to wonder. Malik had mentioned an afterlife- was there really such a thing? For so many years, he had been entirely focused on keeping at least a fraction of himself alive. Bakura remembered nothing about the time period between his vanquishing at the hands of the Pharaoh, and the morning he had woken up on Ryou’s living-room floor. As such, he could only assume that his soul, if one could call it that, had been confined to some kind of purgatory the likes of which weren’t particularly memorable, and hopefully weren’t painful, though he supposed he would’ve deserved that. Hell, Bakura had never been scared of the darkness. The way it enveloped him now, even, just the night, was already beginning to feel more and more like home. He could just imagine what it would be like, sinking down into that cold water, and just letting it eat him from the legs up, closing his eyes, stilling the frantic beating of his heart. He’d never have to see another roaring flame again.

Maybe, just maybe, the gods would have enough mercy to send him somewhere dark.

“Bakura!”

His eyes opened wide. Unable to move much, Bakura slowly turned his head to the side and looked over towards the edge of the road, seeing the frantic figure that was dismounting the familiar motorcycle under the illumination of the streetlight.

His stomach dropped. Slowly, he knelt down and pressed himself back into a seated position atop the wall, turning around to face his visitor so he could see him better.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” Malik scrambled off the seat of the bike and quickly ran up to the edge of the grassy incline, eyes large and pupils tiny with shock. It would have been amusing in any other circumstance, the way he stormed up towards him in the same tiny shorts and tank top from earlier with his devil-horns headband crooked over his hair. Bakura couldn’t help but notice the way he walked, eyeing how his hands were fists at his sides.

“How did you find me?” he found himself asking, looking into the wide gaze.

“Yugi,” Malik replied, breathing hard with obvious exertion that made Bakura wonder just how fast he had to have driven to arrive so quickly. “This is the closest place to see the water. Come down!”

Jolted slightly out of his reverie, Bakura frowned down at his visitor and gripped harder into the edge of the wall. He recalled them having a conversation about the bridge before, but it was unfortunate that the Egyptian was smart enough to interpret such a vague comment so quickly. From the frantic tone that laced Malik’s words, Bakura guessed that he could read between the lines of what was going on- and as such, he supposed making it extra obvious wouldn’t hurt.

“Sorry, kid. You’ll have to get dick somewhere else, next time.”

Malik’s wide-eyed expression was contrasted by the light and shadows where he stood.

“What are you talking about?” the blonde called out a little more desperately as he began to scale the incline, approaching the wall fast and kicking through the tall grass. Bakura leaned back just slightly, narrowing his eyes even when his chest ached. No. He had to remind himself that whatever he was feeling, it wouldn’t last. It wasn’t real.

“None of your business,” he decided on simply and brought one foot up so it was pressing into the top of the brick, away from Malik’s reach. His belly clenched as he said it, and the fleeting gleam of what looked like pain in Malik’s eyes quickly shifted to a more familiar, piercing look. Warm hands grabbed around Bakura’s still-hanging ankle before he could shift away, tugging hard.

“Get DOWN!”

Bakura tried to kick, suddenly especially anxious just to stand up and fall, to feel the coldness and the darkness consume him for what he could only hope would be the actual last time. His palms slid across the top of the wall and, having underestimated Malik’s strength, he scrambled and found himself tumbling forwards towards the land, falling into the Egyptian hard and colliding with the wet, grassy ground a few feet down.

The impact startled both of them, their simultaneous shouts cutting through the otherwise quiet air. Bakura gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, and then gritted his teeth, reaching down to grab hold of Malik’s shoulders angrily. Something stopped him, for a moment, but then the rage began to consume him and he dug his fingers in, clutching hard onto the body he had just grasped hold of less than an hour before.

“What’s your fucking problem, huh?!” he spat, glaring down into the shocked face. “Let me do what I want!”

Malik had to stop to gasp for a breath of what sounded like fear, and Bakura found his fingers loosening unthinkingly, though he didn’t understand why.

“Are you seriously trying to jump?! What’s wrong with you?!”

“Get out of my way,” Bakura managed once he found his voice, able to hear the weakness in his tone. He didn’t care. He couldn’t let himself become emotional, start doubting this. It was all he had left. Wincing, feeling the bruising on his knees from the impact, he rolled off of Malik and tried to stand up, hissing when a hand encircled his wrist and tugged him forcibly back down.

“Stop!” Malik insisted, and his voice cracked audibly. Bakura stopped, startled by what sounded like actual fear. He had never heard Malik sound so frightened before.

“….Ishtar,” he growled and tried to pull his arm away, feeling the cold wind that whipped past his face and hair. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?!” Malik shouted back at him, scrambling to grab hold of Bakura’s other arm with his free hand. Bakura thrashed, shoving back at his chest with his whole weight.

“What do you fucking care what I do?!”

“Of course I care about you!”

It was nothing like what he had expected to hear, but Bakura couldn’t believe the words, couldn’t imagine why he would care, why he would bother. He stilled, and then found himself tossing his head back in a bark of a laugh, aware that Malik’s grasp on his arms had weakened, probably out of surprise.

“You shouldn’t,” Bakura then replied, grinning through the tears that streamed down his face. “I don’t.”

What should have amounted to a convenient silence that enabled him to return to his post suddenly felt suffocating. Malik was gazing at him, effectively gluing him to where he sat in the grass, and Bakura wondered why he couldn’t look away. As he breathed, Malik’s body shook with visible shivers- maybe from the cold, or maybe just exertion. Then, Malik reached for him, momentarily releasing his weakened grasp, and Bakura reached out to push his hands away, hoisting himself back into a standing position on his sore heels.

“Do me a favor,” he continued when he turned around, wondering why, all of a sudden, not seeing Malik’s face just hurt so badly. “Tell Ryou this is what I wanted.”

Before he could take a step away, the blonde was in front of him, grabbing hold of his shoulders to keep him from moving and staring down into his face with eyes like saucers.

“Bakura,” he said, sounding like he was trying to speak levelly, even with his how voice shook and split. “Just- I know you’ve got problems. You said you have nightmares about your past, right? You don’t need to do this.”

“We’re just fucking around, Malik,” Bakura said smoothly, trying to return to the blissful numbness that had brought him out into the night so easily. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Malik spat. “I know a lot about you.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Bakura growled in return, feeling his eyes burn and sting as the words dripped out of him like vomit. “Having to live with the shit I’ve done.”

The statement seemed to catch Malik off-guard for a moment, but then the other gripped into his shirt with a renewed fervor, pulling him up closer.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he insisted, tone desperate and not at all comforting. “You were under the influence of a Millennium Item. I know what that’s like.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do!”

“Your dark side had control of you. I was the dark side.”

“Bakura,” Malik pushed on, and the shake in his voice surprised Bakura when he gripped into his shirt. “I know how it feels to be so blinded by the pain that you want to see blood on your hands. You feel like they deserve it.”

Deserve it. If anyone deserved to bleed, it was him, not only for the sins of his past, but for the person, or thing, he was now. Was he even a person? All he had left of his past self were some shitty memories of his most traumatic moments, mixed with the recollections of the shitty things he had done several years back, some of them with this guy at his side. He couldn’t really even consider himself a living being, not really, not when all that was left of him was pain, and hurt, and fear, and resentment, and anger, both at himself and at the world. He couldn’t even be happy for the one person who had cared enough for him to want to have him close, to want to provide for him, when he still gave back next to nothing in return.

Yes, perhaps that was really the worst part- the fact that he could see now just how rare a thing true joy was, and yet couldn’t appreciate it, not even for the person he owed his current existence to in the first place. The words fell from Bakura’s tongue before they could even appear in the back of his mind, slow and shaky, like a flower ambling across the surface of a river.

“He didn’t.”

\--


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has been really cathartic. I hope you enjoy this installment, and that it helps bring most of the story together.
> 
> (There is still one more chapter left to go, so keep an eye out if you're interested!)

\--

As soon as the words left his lips, Bakura was painfully aware of the hot liquid that streamed down each of his pale cheeks, curving under his chin. His own voice sounded foreign in his throat as he knelt in the damp grass, feeling like something deep inside him had cracked in two.

“I can feel it,” he rasped, tears starting a slow trickle down his throat. “Where I stabbed him. My arm and…my chest…the ring.”

The words were falling off his tongue before he could even attempt to grit his teeth, deep, slow quakes starting to wrack his body from the inside. Somehow, Bakura didn’t even feel like he had the energy to cover his face in his hands, or grip ahold of himself as he felt his torso begin to jerk. Silently, the blonde gazed back at him, brown lips a thin line and lavender eyes visibly hazy under the yellow light of the streetlamp.

“S…F….and he brought me back…Why?” Bakura’s voice cracked, trembling fingers clutching into the damp soil at his sides. “Why can’t anyone just let me die?!”

Bakura had never once said such a thing aloud, nor did he recall thinking it quite so clearly, even to himself. In the moment, though, it felt like the truth- something deep within him told him it was what he had wanted, or needed, all along, the only thing that could save him from the knowledge of what he had done, and what he might continue to do if left to whatever cruel and sadistic fragments still existed deep within his heart. Malik was just looking at him, gaze wide as though he was at least somewhat surprised, but the blank look in his dim orbs was strange. Visually, there was the slight afterimage of something Bakura had seen before, in Ryou’s eyes in the mirror-

His heart pounded, but the voice that spoke next was Malik’s, calm and measured, though obviously sad.

“Your death won’t solve anything,” the blonde stated, and Bakura let out a laugh that was also a sob.

“Don’t talk like you understand!” he found himself practically yelling, throat aching as he reached out and grabbed hold of the bronze biceps with every intent to shove Malik away. “I’m a fucking failure! I can’t even be happy that he has his own fucking life!”

“Then apologize to him,” Malik stated without missing a beat, and Bakura could hear him breathing. It sounded labored, and his voice was solemn, but seemed slightly weak. Never once, not even tangled up in bed with him hours before, had Bakura heard Malik Ishtar sound quite so vulnerable. His hands tensed on the Egyptian’s shoulders, and he felt a twitch in the other’s muscle, sudden and unexplained.

Bakura felt the sadness inside him shift, eyes fixated on the man that sat across from him in the dirt. Malik continued to watch him, and he began to see an emerging gleam in his partner’s hazy eyes. 

“It’s really…dark out here,” Malik finally broke the silence, twitching again before bursting into a full-body tremor that tickled Bakura’s palms. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Bakura sat, dumbfounded. Instinctively, he reached out with the beginnings of an attempt at bringing Malik closer, only to find himself being clung onto with an incredible force, clutched tightly by thin arms and biting fingernails in the skin against his spine. Malik’s soft hair pressed up into the bottom of his chin, shoving his chest against Bakura’s in a desperate embrace.

Swallowing, Bakura couldn’t help but reach out and just hold on in kind. He had never seen Malik in this kind of a state. Perhaps surprised, or slightly vulnerable, but never so weak. His tremors began pulsing against him in full-blown shakes, leaving Bakura to play back memories of the past couple of months in his head. He recalled their first meeting in the supermarket, when Malik had quickly skirted out through the doors at the reminder that it was nightfall, and the candle that was always burning on his tabletop in the evening. He recalled the lit laptop screen, the burning fireplace, and Malik’s hesitation to leave the sushi restaurant, trailing close behind Bakura as they ran through the puddles under the night sky. Malik had said it once before, but it had been a calm, impersonal statement that Bakura hadn’t paid much attention to. Now that he thought about it, though…

“You’re this afraid of the dark?” he murmured, voice raw from the sobs that still felt trapped in the base of his throat. In the midst of the creeping existential crisis, Bakura hadn’t really even given a thought to any of those things, but the pure surprise of his realization knocked him out of his momentary breakdown.

He found himself holding Malik as Malik quaked against him, feeling the other gripping tightly into his shirt.

“I get it,” the blonde insisted a few moments later, seeming to ignore the question. Malik’s wet face pulled away from where it had been pressing against his chest, and the wide-eyed, tear-stained visage made Bakura feel like his guts had been stepped on. “I…know what it’s like to want to be dead. Please, don’t do this!” 

While the contrary part of Bakura immediately wanted to disagree, the shrillness of Malik’s voice startled any prospective reply right out of his mouth. He found himself merely sitting there, torn between feeling confused and disturbed when he felt Malik release him abruptly, hands coming up to grip bruisingly into his ash locks and pull in a familiar gesture Bakura hadn’t seen in many years.

“I created him.” Malik took a deep, shuddering breath that resembled a gasp, eyes falling to the earth. “He was me. I murdered my father. I tormented Sister and used Rishid as my slave.”

Bakura listened, stunned by this side of Malik he had never known in such clarity.

“Th…All they did was try to keep me safe,” he finally managed to continue, gripping harder into his hair and gritting his teeth as tears ran down fresh along the apples of his cheeks. “I dream about f-father’s blood. I r…I remember feeling…like I was smiling.”

The absolute ache in Malik’s voice was setting Bakura’s nerves on high alert. He wouldn’t have described it as sad, or even distraught- Malik sounded absolutely frantic, as though he were having a knife dug into a different piece of his flesh each time he spoke. The Egyptian’s voice broke as he hunched over where he sat, yanking even harder into his hair as the liquid began to drip from his chin. Those lavender eyes met Bakura’s again, finally, clearer than before, though still blurred by the influx of tears.

“My scars hurt…all the time,” he eventually continued, taking a shuddering breath, shoulders tensing visibly. “I’ve done nothing…in my life…but torture my family!” Without further warning, Malik grabbed hold of Bakura by the arms and forcefully shoved him down backwards into the ground, tremors becoming so violent that his grasp was weak when he glared down into Bakura’s face. 

“DON’T TELL ME I DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

One by one, hot droplets cascaded down onto Bakura’s pale face, cooling in the air. Lungs burning, the pale man took a deep breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, and reached up without really thinking to wrap his arms around the shaking body. Despite the anger in his voice, Malik was staring down at him with the desperation of a starved man presented with a plated meal. Realization crept upon him as he brought Malik closer against himself, feeling the warm cheek that pressed itself back against his chest.

In those few minutes, Bakura could barely hear any ambient sounds, only the quiet rush of cars from the main road and the distant crash of the sea. He could smell salt in the air, and taste it at the back of his throat, which stung as he held the blonde against himself and gazed at the sky. It was unexpected when Malik began to sob- first, a mere hum in his breath, which cracked in his voice, and then a sharper-than-normal exhale, and before he knew it, Bakura could hear him flat out-bawling against his chest, deep, guttural sounds that were almost screams, alarming in their agony and volume.

Bakura’s grasp tightened as he held him, finding himself pressing his face against Malik’s hair without really thinking about it, wondering why so deeply he felt the need to keep him close, as though it might somehow exorcise him of that deep, torturous guilt that he himself knew so intimately. 

Malik clutched into him with a bruising grip. Absently, tears decorating his lashes, Bakura began wondering just how Malik had dealt with it for so long. How had he remained so functional through the pain, holding down work, staying close with family? How did he keep that flippant, self-assured smile when he was being eaten alive by the darkness each and every night?

Malik’s hair brushed against his nose, and the scent of the lotus blossom brought a fresh drip of tears down over Bakura’s cheeks.

“Malik,” he eventually murmured, finding his voice through his slow and heavy breaths. His train of thought stopped him when he felt the other inhale with anticipation, slow realization drifting down through his bones in a telling chill. Bakura had really believed that nobody had a care for him, that he had no positive function other than being a grocery boy, that Ryou had probably only summoned him out of loneliness and guilt. There, though, in his grasp, was someone who was begging him not to go, who was clearly broken and bruised in ways that Bakura was realizing he hadn’t even begun to understand.

“When you hit your head,” he finally continued, brain slowly trying to catch up to the question he had had for awhile, now. He recalled speaking with Rishid that one time in the supermarket, and how he had mentioned….

“I had an episode,” Malik replied quietly, voice weak, though it sounded a little more level, like it was a relief to release the words. “My anxiety… gets the better of me when I can’t sleep. I was trying to snap out of…it… and I ended up falling.”

The words made sense to Bakura, albeit it hurt him somewhere deep to have to imagine Malik losing control of himself in such a way, probably thrashing around and trying to control his body as he dealt with the crippling and consuming fear that clearly wracked him from his very core. It felt like a switch went off in his mind when he slowly sat up, supporting Malik’s lean body against his as he gripped him in both arms, squeezing tightly in the way he had always sort of hoped someone could maybe hold onto him.

Malik’s heavy breaths and sniffles began to taper off, accompanying Bakura’s slow inhales and shaky exhales. They sat together, clutching hold of one another like floating buoys chained together in a turbulent storm. An echo of thunder passed through the cold air, and Bakura could feel Malik’s hot arms prick with goose-pimples under his grasp, chest suddenly tensing with concern. 

“…I’m sorry.”

Bakura frowned, confused. He was the pitiful one, here.

“What fucking for?”

Malik’s shaky gasp just encouraged Bakura’s arms around him tighter.

“This isn’t about me,” the blonde murmured. His lips curved into a sad, agonizing smile. “I was trying to…help you. I shouldn’t be trying to drag you into my life.”

It was Bakura’s turn to feel momentarily hazy as he pulled Malik into a firmer squeeze, mute, just shaking his head, and hoping he understood. He remembered the bruises on Malik’s back so clearly, next to those angry red marks, and he just tried to hold him tighter. His partner- his lover, who was he kidding?- had made what he was feeling obvious. Despite their agreement to be “friends with benefits”, they had never really been friends. Friends didn’t flirt with one another, and friends certainly didn’t listen to one another cry over their agonizing pasts while minding one another’s faded and fresh scars. What had Bakura been thinking? 

How could he end everything when he was needed?

“We’re fucked up,” he eventually rasped out, just kind of letting the words tumble off his lips. He felt Malik stiffen, but and before he knew it, the blonde was giggling and sniffling into his shoulder, wetting through Bakura’s shirt again with tears even as he laughed. The sound sent an unsettling but welcome warmth blooming outwards in the center of Bakura’s chest, unfurling like a flower in the night. 

“We aren’t like lotus leaves, are we?” Malik hummed eventually, voice light. Bakura sat backwards just enough to look him in the face, tilting his head. 

“Uh, what?”

Malik blinked, then looked a little abashed, tears still shining on the crests of his kohl-smeared cheeks. “Oh. Sorry. It’s an old saying Sister taught me when we were kids.”

Bakura could smell the flower balm as he kept his arms around Malik’s waist. He could almost see the image in his mind of that river, the one that was always in the distance in his dreams. The water burbled, the lotus blossoms floated on their lilypads, and even though there were screams and smoke in the air, he couldn’t help but wonder what that river was like nowadays, and whether the flowers were still there, travelling in a more silent night.

“What’s it mean?” he found himself asking when one of his pale hands came up, wet with mud and grass, to mindlessly touch the hair that was mussed beneath Malik’s ear. Malik seemed to soften into it a little more, like it was a silent acknowledgment, or a warm blanket tucked around him in the cold darkness of the night. 

“The leaves of the lotus blossom don’t get wet,” he explained, shifting, placing his hands against Bakura’s chest in a gesture of quiet vulnerability that, despite the serious atmosphere, made Bakura lurch a little in an unintentional swoon. “Even in water. The water rolls right off of them and they stay dry. When one of us would get whipped, we’d say that to each other… ‘People aren’t like lotus leaves.’ You know…like, people soak things up and get scars. We were trying to feel better about how much it hurt.”

Malik sounded self-conscious, and didn’t seem to pick up on Bakura’s wide-eyed processing when he sat backwards with a tiny and bashful smile on his face.

“It sounds weird saying that in Japanese. I guess it’s hard for me to explain.”

“It’s not weird,” Bakura stated, surprising himself with his certainty but really not caring as he reached down and grabbed onto Malik’s hands hard, feeling very suddenly like a blindfold had been removed from his eyes. “This-..Shit, listen, this is getting creepy, okay? You smell like those fucking water-lilies all the time, and I see them in my dreams, and then you say this.”

His partner watched him, seeming a little startled but also amused. Malik reached forwards and promptly flicked him between the eyes.

“Creepy? That’s not a very nice thing to say to the love of your life, is it?”

Bakura scoffed. It was, undoubtedly, a laughable statement, and a laughable situation, and just the type of catty, sarcastic, and adorably smug type of thing that Malik would text him at 2AM when Bakura was devouring the last of the Oreo ice cream from Ryou’s freezer. There was no bite of sarcasm in his voice, though, and Bakura didn't feel the resounding urge to look away from their shared gaze. It was, perhaps, the first time since he could remember that he felt so extremely confused about his life, and purpose, and feelings. Even so, the fear and hopelessness, while still gripping on around his shoulders, felt like they had finally crept out from the depths of his heart and belly, and merely held fast with their claws at his collarbones, leaving his ribs and guts light and free.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, unable to keep the slight smile from his face. They shared a look before Bakura slowly let his gaze fall, grasp loosening as he eyed the sparkling dew on the wet grass between their splayed legs.

Malik shifted slightly. “You should talk to him,” he recommended, reading Bakura’s thoughts without any problem in a way that, perhaps, could have been unsettling. Then again, Bakura was getting pretty used to the fact that Malik could usually outsmart him.

“…What do I even say?” he finally got out, eyes coming up to meet him. “He’s going to cry. He already fucking apologizes for bringing me back.”

“He wanted you here,” Malik replied, looking at him seriously. “I can promise you I would never invite my dark side back into my life. He missed you.”

“How do you know?”

The pained look on Malik’s face made Bakura feel immediately guilty he had asked.

“I know your situation is different from mine,” the blonde said eventually, swallowing as though his throat was dry and shifting a little closer, back within the reach of Bakura’s arms. “But there can be something very comforting about another you. Even if it isn’t really you. I think you just need to tell him how you feel.”

Bakura swallowed thoughtfully, turning his head absently over towards the wall upon which he had been sat. The soles of his feet burned at the reminder. Knuckles planted themselves warningly into his side, and he turned to glance back at Malik with a wince. Malik narrowed his eyes.

“And if you ever try anything like this again, I’ll kill you.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow.

“That seems like it would be rather counterproductive.”

They shared a soft huff of a laugh in the cold air. In their closeness, he felt Malik beginning to tremble again, and reached out to grip him underneath the arms. Without thinking, Bakura lifted him up onto his feet before he could stop him, grunting with pain as his raw soles slipped on the damp earth.

The blonde shifted and took a step backwards, plastic devil horns still hanging askew across his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Bakura looked down at his bare feet, feeling like they were bleeding. Malik sighed audibly. 

“It’s a good thing I rode my bike over here,” he murmured, voice a bit broken. Bakura instinctively came closer, tucking an arm around his waist protectively, wanting- no, needing- to form a shield between him and the source of his fear. The streetlight nearby provided a hazy spot of light around them, but the darkness beyond was indeed rather noticeable in this part of town. 

He hesitated in his response. It seemed unreal, the prospect of opening up to his lighter side. He wasn’t sure he could do it. Was it even right to expose Ryou to that kind of anguish, after all the pain and suffering Bakura had put him through already?

“You’ll be fine,” Malik reassured, apparently able to sense the mood even in his own compromised state. Bakura felt the hands flatten against his back, and he sniffled, fresh tears beading in his eyes. 

“So, what then?” he breathed, talking as much to himself as he was to his lover. “I tell him, and then what? I just spend my life there cooking ramen and washing dishes while that Jonouchi bastard bangs him in the other room?”

Malik’s soft laugh was almost infectious. The blonde shook his head and just smiled.

“If you’re wanting something a little more purposeful, I think I can help you out,” he stated, taking Bakura’s hand and tugging gently in the direction of the motorcycle. “Do you trust me?”

In the past, the idea would have been inconceivable. Malik Ishtar, the cunning and ruthless force to be reckoned with, asking for his trust. Bakura found his breath stopping in his throat when he thought about it. In reality… even back then, he had trusted this guy, and trusted him with his life. That particular situation hadn’t gone very well, but the assent already tingled on the tip of his tongue, asking to be given. It seemed too good to be true that Bakura could…feel this way towards someone, to want to care for them, and be cared for, and find them beautiful, and sexy, and funny, and intelligent, and so incredibly similar to him when it came to his pain. 

He felt the realization settle over him. Obviously, this wasn’t just a silly no-strings-attached thing anymore, but oddly enough, the prospect of something…real…It didn’t scare him. Not if it was Malik. 

They met eyes again, and he clicked his tongue before looking promptly away, lacing their fingers together to hold his hand. 

“Have I ever not?”

\--

By the time they had returned to Malik’s house later that evening, Bakura wasn’t surprised to see Ryou waiting there at the front door with big, teary eyes. It was wordless when he took his first couple of pained steps inside, and Ryou threw his arms around him, holding him in a vice that he would have felt like a sadist for struggling out of. Aware of the few sets of eyes on him, and seeing Malik’s telling gaze over one shoulder, he had reached out and gently taken his light by the wrist, pulling him wordlessly in the direction of the other room. Ryou had followed, easily, until they has moved up the stairs and into one of the silent hallways.

Before he could say anything, Ryou had wrapped him in yet another big hug, leaving Bakura to feel his soft shivers.

“Yugi said you just walked out,” his light murmured to him, slowly stepping backwards and staring at Bakura with the shiniest, tear-streaked white cheeks. “Malik ran out to look for you. I was so worried!”

Bakura listened, trying to collect any thought that made sense from the mishmash of painful and swirling emotions that were threatening to consume him again. Just talk to him, Malik had said. Talk, how, exactly? Tell him the truth? What if he couldn’t handle it?

Ryou clutched onto him tighter, and Bakura paused. No, Ryou could handle it. He had handled worse. Somehow, Bakura felt like if he made light of this, if he avoided the truth, the whole truth, it would fester inside of him until he made it right.

“…I saw you with him,” he murmured. Ryou gasped, shoulders rising up in shock.

“Th- I’m sorry!“

“Don’t be,” Bakura replied, and he was aware his voice was starting to crack in his sore throat. “I’m...the sorry one. I hate myself for this.”

There was a silence between them in the quiet hallway for a few seconds, until Ryou broke it with a soft whimper.

“You’re mad at me,” his past host whispered, sounding horrified. “I’m sorry, I’m…Bakura, I’m really sorry-“

“I told you,” the taller man replied a little more sharply, eyes closed tight as he forced himself to speak. “Don’t be sorry. Stop it.”

Ryou paused again, taking a sniffling breath that made Bakura’s arm scar pulse with regret.

“Have I been ignoring you?”

It wasn’t what he had expected to hear. Bakura opened his eyes with surprise and confusion, only to be faced with the saddest, most regretful expression his light had ever shown him.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ryou continued shakily, fingers gripping into the white robe of his costume, pale visage making him look much more like an angel than any ghost. “It’s- I just really like Jonouchi, but I didn’t mean to leave you home alone so much. And work has been busier than normal, and I know you never wanted to be back here anyways, and I’m so…I’m so, so sorry that I brought you back! I’ve been so selfish!”

Bakura felt like his heart had frozen over. Sure, Ryou had said things like this before, about how he was worried for him, and how he was sorry, but…it had never been quite so clear to Bakura why he was saying such things. Ryou was naturally a kind and caring person, and Bakura had always sort of just assumed that he carried a general guilt regarding any action that could be perceived as even mildly disagreeable, even though he was the most responsible and empathetic individual Bakura could ever recall meeting in his remembered lifetime. Somehow, despite sharing a body with the boy for so long, Bakura hadn’t made the connection that Ryou understood him so well in return- that he could obviously sense the lost-ness he felt, the general sense of meaninglessness that he covered with sassy remarks and laziness. His face paled as he watched his other self, shaking his head slowly, trying to collect his words.

Ryou had known about his sadness the whole time.

“No,” he finally got out and reached out slowly, chest aching when he realized that Ryou, the person he had scarred, stabbed, embedded himself into for years, didn’t even flinch in the slightest as he slid a pale hand into his hair and stroked his fingertips against the boy’s scalp.

“I need to apologize to you,” he breathed out, forcing himself to look Ryou in the face. “Not just for this. For…everything.”

Bakura was prepared to go into gory detail about their past, from the first time he had possessed him all the way up to what had happened hours before, but Ryou just grabbed onto him in a vice-like squeeze and whined against his arm, and Bakura knew that he understood. His hold was tight, and though he could feel Ryou’s shivers of pain, Bakura pushed his own guilt and sadness aside, instead just gripping onto Ryou with the strength and support he knew his other half had always needed.

Why had he been torturing himself for so many years? Bakura grit his teeth, amazed to realize that it had actually been Malik who had been able to get through to him. He was ashamed that he had allowed himself to be this dense for so long. The irritation he expressed to others, his need to isolate- it had all been out of guilt, out of his own fixation on his feelings of self-hatred. So what, if he had never asked to come back here? Nobody asked to be born, really, and he knew he should have counted himself lucky from Day One for the new chance he had to right his wrongs of the past.

“It’s okay!” Ryou broke the silence again, and his voice, though shaky, was jubilant when he leaned back and beamed. “I’ve never held anything against you, I’ve- really, never. I know it wasn’t really you who did those things. And after you left, I just…I wanted you back here because you’re a part of me!”

How was Bakura so lucky, that the stupid thing he had always been pining for, he had had all along?

“Tch.” The exhale was habitual as Bakura stroked his fingers through Ryou’s long hair, still holding him tight in his free arm as he looked away, then made himself look right back, lips quirking into a sad smile. 

“Well…I feel rather popular lately,” he admitted, hesitant to even bring it up, though he knew nothing good would come from hiding it. Ryou shifted a little with surprise, and the next words echoed softly between them in a way that made Bakura’s stomach twist.

“Are you really going out with Malik?” Ryou guessed. Bakura swallowed. Being open was…fucking hard. How did Ryou do it so easily?!

After a few seconds, he nodded, equally embarrassed and relieved by Ryou’s happy grin. The white paint had long since worn off his pink lips, which shined around his bright teeth.

“Bakura, I’m so happy! You two make a really good couple!”

Bakura sighed, amazed by the fact that someone could go through so much turmoil and yet remain so morally pure, so happy for the joy of others. Perhaps there was a reason that he was the light, and Bakura his shadow, even though the worst parts of himself had been banished long ago. Granted, he couldn’t help but think that if he were as pure and sweet as Ryou, Malik might eat him alive, in more ways than one. No, it was good that he had someone to contend with- Bakura had no desire to be involved so intimately with a pushover, though he didn’t exactly find himself minding too much when Malik showed a little vulnerability, as long as he was the one who got to help.

God, when had he become such a sap?

“If you say so,” Bakura replied, catching his own sass immediately and patting Ryou’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be doing everything I can to make it up to you.”

Ryou’s next hug was even tighter, if that was possible, and Bakura returned it, wholeheartedly, wondering why his chest and upper arm felt so warm, almost achy, but like that nagging pain that had always been there was somehow melting away.

“Are you guys getting really serious?” Ryou whispered to him softly, sounding confused. “I thought the Ishtars were going to leave Domino at the end of December.”

The implication was obvious, and Bakura paused for a moment. During their fast ride back through the cold night air, Malik had shot him a rather exciting prospect for their future together, an idea which seemed surprisingly well thought-out. Bakura had just told him he would think about it, so he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to give anyone an answer, even Ryou. He did, though, know that he had to be honest, so he just let the truth fall out of him in a gentle breath of air.

“I think we might have a plan.”

Ryou hugged him, yet again.

\--


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading Lotus Leaves to the end!
> 
> I appreciate each and every one of you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope this story can touch you in some way, or even just make you smile.

\--

The next string of weeks was kind of a blur.

As November passed, there seemed to be a definite lightness in the cold autumn air. Despite his associated embarrassment, Bakura couldn’t help but feel like having his and Malik’s general relationship out in the open soothed something in his psyche. When he woke up in the mornings, he could do his usual chores without worrying about whether or not he could run out to Malik’s house without Ryou noticing. He didn’t even have to hide his phone from Ryou’s eyes at breakfast, unless Malik had sent something particularly risqué (which he had started doing more often).

It was for this reason that, when December came along, Bakura didn’t find himself dreading the future. There was no longer the dismal, sinking feeling in his stomach when he thought about what he was going to do with his life, or where he would end up. Even when that Jonouchi bastard was in the apartment watching a movie with Ryou and slobbering all over his face on the sofa, Bakura’s mouth didn’t taste quite as much like poison as it had before.

Maybe this had something to do with his and Malik’s discussion about their future together. Bakura had hesitated at first on giving him an answer; they were both clearly somewhat mentally unstable, though it was also true that both of them, probably Malik more so than himself, were functional enough to complete their daily tasks without falling completely into a despairing apathy. In the end, one night when Malik had been seated next to him in front of the TV while he played Assassin’s Creed, Bakura had turned and looked down at the ash-blonde hair that rested against his shoulder. They had locked eyes, and he had given him a clipped nod, the result of which was a tight and silent embrace with his lover on the living room carpet.

The holidays left rather quickly, with Bakura and Ryou having their typical simple Christmas together. It felt so familiar that it almost didn’t seem as though their time as roommates was coming to an end. It wasn’t until he found himself sitting there at the gate with Malik at his side that the hot sweat of realization began to break out at the back of his neck. He had thoroughly expected to accompany the three Ishtars to the airport as a group, but an unexpected business trip had resulted in Isis and Rishid leaving Japan from Tokyo the day before. As such, it was just the two of them, getting ready to board their plane like a married couple, or something.

“Try this one,” Malik snapped him out of his recollections, turning the cell phone in his direction. Bakura looked up from the paper tray of nachos that sat on his lap, narrowing his eyes and leaning over to observe the hieroglyphs etched over the worn, clay surface of the pot in the photograph.

“Ke-…Uh, Ke-beh-sen-ef?”

“Sen-uf,” the blonde corrected, brows rising. “Not bad. Maybe I can have you do the initial drafting to start. I’ll correct it until we can get you up to speed.”

Bakura tossed back his last mouthful of chips.

“You haven’t exactly hired me yet,” he reminded as Malik scrolled through his gallery. “I’m not on your payroll until I see my first check.”

“Oh, shut up,” Malik hushed with a smile, and Bakura felt his heart clench, as it still tended to from time to time. “I already bought your plane ticket. Consider that your first deposit.”

“Hn. I’ll be needing a new wardrobe, too,” he sniffed in response. “Unless you want me cooking alive in that sun.”

Malik grinned. “Why not? You could use a tan.”

“Fuck off.” Bakura shoved the bronze arm with his elbow, reaching up to scratch at an awkward spot behind his shoulder blade. It still seemed unreal, the fact that this bizarre ability to read hieroglyphs had come into his life right along with Malik’s return. While he had suspected it already, Malik had revealed to him just how lucrative the artifact industry was- and that, because of that fact, were Bakura willing to follow him home, he could work alongside him as an assistant to the process whenever things were busy. As a rule, it sounded as though Isis and Rishid did most of the international traveling, leaving Malik and his greater ability to read the ancient texts to handle the paperwork and interpretation side of the family business.

“Planning to torture me when your siblings aren’t around to keep you in check?”

The Egyptian laughed softly and set his phone down onto his lap. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

“Hey…”

Bakura and Malik both turned to see the small white figure that stood at the edge of the row of seats.

“I got you both some cookies to take along,” Ryou explained and offered them the white box, cheeks slightly flushed with what Bakura immediately recognized as restrained emotion. “I know they have food on the plane, but…”

Bakura watched the way Malik’s face lit up.

“Thank you!” the Egyptian greeted, taking the box carefully with both hands. “Oh, that reminds me. Can you message me some of your recipes sometime? I really want to try making that banana bread you baked for Christmas.”

Ryou smiled, seeming a little more relaxed. Bakura felt his shoulders drift downwards, trying to remind himself that yes, once their flight left, he wouldn’t be seeing that face nearly so much anymore, but that maybe it was okay, and that it might be time to let his worries go.

Bakura’s stomach ached. It was really happening, whether he had processed it yet or not. He looked down at his shoes, remembering when he and Ryou had talked through this, how both of them had cried a bit, and how good the tight hug had felt afterwards. As intimidating as the entire situation was, Bakura knew it was for the best. It wasn’t like he’d never visit.

“Thanks,” he murmured, slightly delayed. Ryou’s smile was contagious.

_Gate 23, Zone 1, Now Boarding_

The voice over the speaker caught his attention. He slowly pushed up from his seat, one hand on the large piece of luggage his light had let him take along. He met Ryou’s eyes unsurely, gaze then flicking down to the folded paper in his shirt pocket. Zone 4. In just a couple of minutes…

“Bakura.” It was Ryou who spoke first. Bakura met his eyes again, swallowing hard, feeling the tears that were starting to sting. Despite the way Ryou’s eyes glistened, Bakura somehow didn’t feel the need to say much, aware that this near mirror-image of himself could easily understand.

“…Don’t forget your jacket,” Ryou eventually continued, reaching for the seat behind Bakura and lifting up the red hoodie with the white-cuffed sleeves.

“Thanks,” Bakura rasped back, aware of the shake in his voice as he shrugged the article back on over his arms and shoulders. Without really thinking, he paused for just a moment, and then reached out to wrap both arms around Ryou, hugging his too-familiar body tighter than he ever had before.

_Gate 23, Zone 4, Now Boarding_

“It’s us,” Malik reminded. Bakura let go, smiling at Ryou with a silent promise in his face. He knew he’d see him again, hopefully sooner than later.

“Text me when you can get a few days off,” he told his other half, and Ryou beamed right back at him with a jubilance that stroked his very heart.

Bakura turned and followed his partner up towards the check-in area, placing his suitcase onto the scale and showing his boarding pass to the clerk. It felt surreal as he walked along the enclosed bridge and onto the plane through the entrance door, quietly following Malik, who was clearly experienced at flying, along the crowded aisle and towards the back of the plane. Clueless, he merely handed his bag to Malik when the other outstretched his hand, watching in interest as he tucked their belongings into the storage cabin above their row of seats and then scooted himself into the chair closest to the window. A quick glance around told Bakura that they were in the row at the very back, and he wondered whether that was intentional as he plopped down into the aisle seat directly beside him.

“You don’t fly first class?” he asked dryly, observing the cramped space. Malik clicked his tongue at him.

“That’s so expensive.”

“You’re made of money, aren’t you?” he teased. Malik snickered.

“You wish. I have expenses, you know.”

“Noted,” Bakura hummed, fiddling with the lever at the side of the seat and blinking as it reclined a bit. “Add me to the list, I suppose.”

The self-deprecation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Malik turned to look at him as he buckled his seatbelt, lips pursed visibly. Unexpectedly, the Egyptian reached out and carded a hand into Bakura’s mass of white hair, rubbing his fingertips firmly against his scalp.

“You pay can pay me back in other ways, mm?”

Whether that was a sexual remark or a tender one, Bakura couldn’t quite tell, but from the fond yet sneaky smile on Malik’s face, he could only guess that both intentions might have been there. He tried to ignore the twinge between his legs and leaned in a little, fully intending to flick his forehead in retribution. When he got close enough to Malik’s face, though, he instead found himself leaning in just those couple of inches further, pressing his mouth against Malik’s slightly parted lips with a softness that betrayed his general trepidation.

Their kiss was smooth and short, and the hot purr of breath against his mouth when they parted felt like a relief. Malik’s smile fell, and the blonde looked him in the face, and then downwards, eyes following over the front of his body.

“That hoodie looks nice on you,” he mused, bringing Bakura’s attention back down to the crimson jacket that draped over his front and sides. “I actually don’t even mind that you stole it from me. Thief.”

Bakura opened his mouth to laugh, but the joy in his chest panged hard enough that a lump swelled in his throat, stopping him. Malik glanced up at him, obviously surprised by the way his body jerked. For whatever, stupid reason, tears sprung instantly and hotly into Bakura’s eyes, and then began to run down over his cheeks, curving along around his chin as his heart pounded. Why…?

Everything just felt so overwhelming…

Malik reached for him. Bakura returned his sudden embrace firmly, burying his wet face against the warm shoulder. Something crashed through him like a hot wave, aching but hopeful, unexpected enough to be incredulous, and yet somehow familiar, like the smell of the lotus balm that touched the back of his tongue as he inhaled against Malik’s hair.

This was really happening. No longer was he that lurking spirit, the brooding demon, the useless other half. This was the beginning of being actually…useful for something, and being someone. His skinny white arms felt warm, warmer than ever, under those soft red sleeves. Malik hugged him so tightly that it felt like being squeezed by the sun itself. The embrace began to fill his emptiness with a tingling heat- It was a relief, like bundling up next to a roaring fire after being out in the snow.

His mind began to work again, bringing a little frown to his face. Since when did he think favorably of fire?

Bakura eventually began to relax backwards, starting to feel more at ease. He kept a hand against Malik’s side, forgetting about the fact that they were in public as he moved his forearm behind his partner, instinctively avoiding his spine and upper back as he held him across his tailbone instead.

Malik’s eyes widened, and Bakura could see a bit of a blush surface on his dark cheeks.

“…By the way, thanks for, ahm,” the blonde started, showing a little of the soft and uncertain side that Bakura treasured, disbelieved, and wanted to take advantage of, all at the same time. He tilted his head, waiting for the explanation.

“Being careful,” Malik finished quietly, eyes falling, as though it were hard on him to say it aloud. “When we’re in bed, you know.”

It was probably something Bakura should have been smug about, seeing Malik in one of his rare shy moods and knowing that his actions between the sheets were the cause, but the sheer intimacy and knowledge that Malik had recognized his concern for his wounds just made his cheeks flare. He looked away in total embarrassment, aware of the blood pulsing through his every limb. The seatbelt-fastening light illuminated above his head, and he kept one arm around Malik as he latched his belt with his other hand. The entire situation was so new. He felt afraid, and yet free, as though a heavy and insistent force had finally released him, like a hand releasing a balloon skyward.

Never in his life had he felt so many good things all at once.

\--

Upon their arrival by cab, the two had brought their things down the hall and through the house into Malik’s bedroom, a comfortable dwelling decorated primarily with warm reds and browns. There was a small desk in the corner, and a few traditional-looking blankets and posters hanging from the walls, as well as a flat-screen television mounted directly across from the bed. Malik tossed his bag on the floor tiredly and took his laptop out, plugging it in on the desktop and stretching his arms up above his head with a yawn.

Bakura could feel the startling warmth that passed in through the window when Malik opened the curtains, looking out at the scenic view. He observed the hills and houses, and noticed how the scenery was peppered by green trees and paved roads. The sky was blue, so blue that Bakura couldn’t help but gaze out at it for a moment, amazed by the clear brightness. It was a fairly rural area, something he had only ever really encountered in his dreams.

“That flight was sooooo long,” Malik groaned, throwing his hoodie onto the bed and glancing back over at Bakura as he scratched at the back of his neck where his hair was longest. “You hungry? I can heat up some samosas from the freezer.”

“What’s that?” Bakura muttered as he toed off his shoes, tilting his head back and stretching his arms up into the air. The thickness of his long hair felt heavy, and too-hot at the base of his neck, where he tossed it over his shoulders and shook it out with annoyance.

“Like…a fried dumpling? Kind of?” the blonde tried to explain, turning in Bakura’s direction. He hesitated for a moment, but then stripped off the jacket and undershirt he had been wearing, exposing his flesh as he opened one of the drawers on the nearby dresser. Bakura couldn’t help but eye his back- slightly bruised, as it always was, but many of the angry red and white streaks were gone. He had been rubbing the balm on his back a lot, lately. Maybe it had helped, having someone else available to reach.

Malik changed into a simple black sleeveless shirt, pulling the length of his hair out of the neck hole. As if possessed, Bakura slowly made his way across the room, feet quiet against the tile. Without really thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around Malik’s waist and held him from behind. He could feel his apprehensive draw of breath, and then how his lover relaxed against him, the pulse of his heart beating against Bakura’s forearms.

“…What?” Malik asked with a soft voice that made Bakura want to hold him closer. He shook his head silently, trying to buy himself a few seconds to come up with words.

Truth be told, when Malik had first suggested that he come along with him to Egypt to help him with translating artifacts for the family business, there had been a heavy question on his mind. They had spoken at length, by now, about his dreams- the traumatic experience of his past, which he had found Malik, an expert on the ancient scripture and Millennium items, was indeed very familiar with. That mere fact had begged the question that fluttered in his throat, but until now, Bakura hadn’t been sure he had the strength to ask. The warmth that passed through the nearby window, though, combined with the heat of Malik’s body, brought it up and out of him in a whisper.

“Can you take me there?”

He didn’t clarify, but Malik turned to look him in the eyes, obviously aware of what he meant.

“Are you sure?” The blonde shifted against him, turning around until his arms were draped gently around Bakura’s neck. “I think we’ve both done enough crying, lately.”

Bakura swallowed, shaking his head.

“I won’t cry,” he promised, though he supposed he had no way of knowing. “I need to see it. Just once.”

Malik seemed a little surprised by the sureness in his tone. He sighed, looking particularly pretty.

“We’ll have to go back down to Luxor,” he mused, glancing up at the digital wall clock that hung near the bedroom door. “Maybe we can do it later this week, after Sister and-”

“Tonight?” Bakura paused, startled by his own sudden desperation. Malik stopped mid-sentence, expression growing concerned, and the shorter male just shook his head slightly, trying to convey his feelings through his expression, having a hard time speaking and only getting out one more word.

“Please.”

Perhaps he should have been ashamed by the pain in his voice, or should have laughed, and played the entire thing off as a joke. It seemed so impossible to do that now, though, compared to how he had always shrugged things off in the past. Bakura continued to watch Malik, slightly terrified by the realization that, with this person, he didn’t know that he could lie convincingly. It seemed impossible, as though the words wouldn’t leave his lips even if he tried to force them out. The blonde hummed and then nodded at him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Bakura’s cheek.

“All right, but tie your hair back while I pack a few things. It’s going to turn into a rat’s nest on the bike, if you don’t.”

The trip was about three hours in the afternoon heat, not including a break to refill on gas and pick up a couple of things at the small station off the central motorway. The air was warm, so much warmer than Japan, this time of year, and breathing it in felt strange, like it was heating him from the inside out. Apprehension pulsed in Bakura’s veins every time he retook his seat on the back of the motorcycle, wrapped his arms around Malik’s waist, and held tight as they took off. The busy highways were nothing like his visions from the past, nor were the high rise buildings on the horizon, but there was something about the hot air and large expanses of sand and brush that made him feel strange. He found himself clinging onto Malik tighter than he had intended, pillowing his pale face against the other’s shoulder blade.

Despite what he remembered, Malik actually seemed to be a fairly safe driver. Bakura was considering making a joke about it when the bike began to vibrate on its path. He could feel the blonde slowing down his speed and slowly lifted his head, watching as they moved off the pavement and to the right, onto a dirt path.

He could see the collection of buildings against the face of the high rocks in the distance, and his body instantly went cold.

Bakura felt like he was dreaming as they approached, watching the way the small, cube-like structures of stone stood out against the stark blue of the sky. He was momentarily reminded, for some reason, of the light blue walls in Malik’s rental house back in Domino, and he just stared with dark eyes as it came into clearer view.

Malik drove his bike up close to a string of pylons, bringing the vehicle to a stop next to a seated man in sunglasses and a polo shirt with a nametag. Bakura paused, startled, brain catching up to speed. Shit. It was an archaeological site, right? What if they weren’t allowed to-

“Malik Ishtar,” the blonde stated and reached into his pants pocket, producing his wallet and showing the guard what looked like a couple of ID cards, and a folded yellow slip of paper. A few more words were exchanged, Arabic falling smoothly from the Egyptian’s tongue, and when the patrolman nodded and stepped to the side, Malik kicked the bike back in gear and brought the stunned Bakura easily onto the grounds, shunting the kickstand down at the edge of the old stone steps and pulling his helmet off his head with a natural ease. Bakura just stared in amazement. Who…how…

“Come on,” Malik ushered and turned, catching the look. “What?”

“How did you get us in?” Bakura blurted out. Malik raised an eyebrow.

“I visit ancient sites for a living, Bakura,” he reminded, half-smiling. “I have all the permits for this kind of thing.”

Bakura had never wanted to kiss someone quite so much, but he held off.

“You’re amazing.”

“Tch,” Malik laughed, obviously surprised Bakura hadn’t considered it before now and hopping off the leather seat. “Tell me something I don’t know. You can thank me later.”

Playing the memory of Malik’s native tongue over and over in his head, wondering if he could get him to talk like that in bed sometime, Bakura turned and forced himself to face the facades of the ancient buildings.

Something felt like it had taken over his body, pushing past his initial reticence and moving one foot in front of the other. He approached the steps, those stone stairs that went up and up to meet the sky, and slowly climbed his way upwards.

The images that passed through his mind were vivid. It was a place he had only been in his dreams, after all, for the past several millennia. The small, ruined homes stood out against the high stone that rose behind them, and Bakura could see the broken windows, and the way the outside walls were stained from the rooftops down. His feet took him up, and up, until he had reached that next-to-last house there on his left, the one with the crumbling side against the mountain’s edge.

Bakura paused, expecting his mind to play back for him the screams of his parents, the cries of children, the crackling of fire. Instead, though, there was only the gentle breeze that blew along the sides of his neck, where his tied hair had exposed the pale skin of his throat and collarbones.

“Bakura!”

He turned to see Malik quickly scaling the staircase, a worried expression on the blonde’s face. Swallowing, he opened his mouth with the intent of reassuring him, but found himself voiceless, unable quite to understand how he was feeling, much less explain it. Malik stopped a couple steps down from him, obviously concerned.

“Are you okay?”

The worry was sensible- Bakura had told him everything, had explained to him just how horrible that night had been firsthand. On the one hand, Bakura was relieved to know that someone understood, and probably better than anyone else could, how even just recalling it chilled him down to his bones. He found himself taking a step towards Malik, and gently touched the side of his lover’s face with his thumb and palm, not liking the anxiety in his tight lips and between his brows.

“Don’t worry,” he told him, letting his hand fall and turning back towards his childhood home. As though directed by instinct alone, or perhaps some unknown force of the universe, he climbed up the remaining steps and approached the broken and empty window, reaching upwards and to place his hands on the cement. With a hoist, he pulled himself up against the wall and sat down there on the ledge, using his new height to gaze back over at the surrounding mountains that bordered the stark desert.

He could hear footsteps, and Malik soon hopped up to join him at his side. Bakura took a deep breath, seeing the remaining concern in his lover’s expression.

“Want one?” the Egyptian finally asked him, opening the small bag at his hip and offering him one of two wrapped sandwiches from the front pocket. Bakura paused, realizing he had probably picked them up at the gas station earlier and peeling the plastic away.

Sweat began to drip beneath his clothing as he felt the warmth of the sun pass over him, the lack of an overhanging roof offering no protection against the elements. Sweltering, already uncomfortable, Bakura reached down instinctively and pulled off his jacket, and then his shirt, sitting bare-chested, momentarily, in the hot air. He shifted, appreciating the slight breeze but feeling too exposed. Slowly, he reached for his jacket again and shrugged it on over his bare chest, staring out at the horizon and then over towards his side at the other small houses that bordered the staircase.

He heard Malik gasp, feeling the gentle shove and blinking to look at him.

“Are you a pervert?” the blonde asked, obviously startled by the stripping. His lavender eyes widened, pupils shrinking against his light iris. Bakura gazed back at him in confusion, seated against the window ledge with the bulk of his hair hidden in the hood of the red jacket that hung down over his pale chest.

“See a ghost?” Bakura inquired, startled by the incredulous expression. Malik closed his mouth and swallowed, looking down with an obvious blush.

“You just look really good,” was the explanation, quiet and surprised. Unsure exactly what that was about, Bakura smirked and gently put his arm around to Malik’s side, squeezing his hip.

“Now who’s the pervert?”

Malik laughed through his nose, an unsureness still visible in his face. Bakura wasn’t sure why, but that deep dread he had expected to feel wasn’t bubbling in his stomach, or panging at his nerves. While he did feel a little empty, there was also a deep warmth radiating inside him again, a heat that threatened to fill him, if he gave it time.

They sat in silence for several minutes, both nibbling on the sandwiches that Malik had brought along. Bakura was pleased to find that it tasted like peanut butter and some kind of jam or fruit, though he suspected he was going to have to do some negotiating for meat in the near future. He could feel the gentle arch of Malik’s arm around him, but satisfied the bulk of his attention with the panoramic view of the mountains and the sky, gazing out from his seated position at the expanse that he had only really ever seen in his dreams. While he licked the final smear of spread from his thumb, a question occurred to him, and though he couldn’t discern what it meant, it seemed to beg for him to ask it, to give it life by speaking it aloud.

“Who the hell am I?” he breathed deeply. He could feel Malik shifting beside him, staying quiet for a few moments, as though he was thinking hard on it.

“…Well, you’re a thief, for one,” the blonde eventually supplied, words measured as he brought a brown hand up to press his palm against his chest, over his heart. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve stolen from me.”

The implications were clear, and Bakura found himself tossing his head back with a loud bark of a laugh, a laugh that gave him the shakes all the way up through his core and into the tips of his fingers and toes.

“HAH!” he snickered, tightening his grasp on Malik’s hip with a grin. “That’s- What is this, a chick flick?”

Malik rolled his eyes, looking away with a half-smile. “So much for me trying to be romantic, huh?”

He didn’t sound hurt, but Bakura felt a need to lean in a little closer, anyways, holding back the tears that were starting to want to spring up again. Despite how unlikely this entire situation was, how completely impossible…

“I wouldn’t be here without you,” he admitted, reaching out and gently tilting Malik’s face to look back into his. Hell, he wouldn’t be ANYWHERE without Malik, not past the pylons, not in Egypt, not above ground. In truth, he owed Malik practically everything he had now, and probably everything he would ever have in the future, too.

Malik reached out and took Bakura’s free hand in his own. More sweat beaded at the back of Bakura’s neck beneath his ponytail. He groaned, reaching away from Malik’s cheek and up to wipe the annoying fluid from the back of his scalp.

“I think I want a haircut,” he grumbled, unsure entirely where the thought had come from, but just that it felt right. Malik licked his lower lip, sending him a shy yet eager expression that made Bakura’s heart skip a beat.

“You’d look hot,” he admitted. Bakura swallowed, tilting his head in an attempt to play off his slight arousal.

“You don’t like my hair long?” he huffed.

“Of course I do. You look a lot like Ryou, though,” Malik admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s cute.”

“Cute instead of sexy?” Bakura guessed. Malik snickered, sounding embarrassed.

“Nah. I just think you’d look good.”

That was probably reason enough to give it a try, that and getting the godforsaken sweat to not run down his spine so aggressively. As he surveyed the land around them, palms pressed against the home where he had grown up as a child so long ago, he could feel the residual soot against his fingertips, powdery and soft. He expected the tears to begin to well up again, but instead, Bakura felt like a deep, heavy weight was receding from every crevice of his innards, leaving him empty, free, but for the feel of Malik’s fingers threaded with his own.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, even though it ached deep.

The sound of water met his ears when he began to listen to the wind, soft and burbling in the distance. He took a breath and turned to Malik, who was still watching him intently.

“The Nile,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s close, right?”

“Yeah,” Malik whispered. They were silent for a moment before Malik hopped down from the ledge, still holding onto his hand. Bakura followed wordlessly, sun still warming the bare skin of his chest as he allowed Malik to walk him back down the steps and around the mass of rock to his West, down that same path he had watched his parents take so many hundreds of times.

There was a small grove of brush and trees against the rocks that Malik moved past, leaving Bakura to follow in his wake. The sound of the water was getting louder, and when he rounded the next corner, a burst of fresh and cool air met his nose. His knees buckled, able to taste that floral scent in his throat as he gazed upon it, seeing the clumps of reeds, smelling the fresh air.

Malik stopped a few feet from the banks, leaving Bakura just to look. He let go of his partner’s hand and approached the grassy edge, noting the stark contrast of green with light brown, and then kneeling at the very edge. The water burbled, and he began to notice the green lily pads that floated along the tranquil surface, tight bulbs still atop them as they moved. With the hot wind on his neck and the cool breeze against his front, chest bare to the world and eyes wide, Bakura felt his knees buckle completely, and sat. He sat, and breathed, and eased into the cold vapor, and it felt like stepping out of a nightmare and into a dream.

He felt Malik rethread their fingers together.

To return to Kul Elna, perhaps, should have been an entirely horrifying and nightmarish experience, the very source of his millennias-old despair. Inexplicably, however, with the warmth and the coolness that soothed his skin, the hand in his own, and the smell of the water lilies, Bakura finally felt his tears spill over, wet cheeks immediately cooled by the river breeze. This feeling…

For so many years, he had been living in someone else’s body, in someone else’s house, in someone else’s country. He had been inhabiting someone else’s life, staring at rainy and dismal skies, holing himself up in dark rooms where he distracted himself relentlessly to keep from feeling the discomfort and pain. After so many years of that, Malik had come into his life, a beautiful man from his homeland, someone whose mere presence called to him on every physical and spiritual level he could imagine. He had given him the courage to defy what destiny had handed him, to accept it, to move on from those sick fantasies of revenge and the self-hatred and despondency that had followed.

Bakura squeezed the hand in his own tightly, tears dripping from his chin and throat. He could only be grateful, for the first time, to the tender hands of fate that had delivered him with the perfect solution to his problems- something that would have seemed unfeasible just a few months back, but was now his reality. He knew what the feeling was, now, even if he couldn’t put it into words.

This was what it felt like to be _home_.

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End file.
